The Fine Art of Death
by mchicken
Summary: Mike and Steve investigate deaths linked to the vibrant arts community in San Francisco.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: These fine gentleman and their published and TV adventures do not belong to me. I just bring them out to play when I'm bored. I make no money, I just have fun and hope you do too. I promise I will put my toys away when I'm done. Honest.**_

Lizzy picked up her bag and stuffed in pens, pencils, a tightly sealed bottle of India ink and a chamois. She scrounged around the top of the drafting table, looking for an eraser and knocked over a partially consumed mug of cold tea.

"Shit!"

Already late for class, she pulled the rag out of the pocket of her jeans and blotted the stain off a half-finished assignment. Chucking the cloth in the trash, she grabbed her portfolio case and bolted out the door. Mrs. Molinaro, who owned the deli at the corner of Chestnut and Mason, waved as Lizzy blew by her. Lizzy's apartment sat atop the small store. It was little over three blocks to The San Francisco Institute of Art at 800 Chestnut Street, but it was straight uphill.

She was panting when she flew into the drawing studio that occupied room A113.

"Late again, Ms. Grisko."

"Give it a rest, Todd."

Todd Walters was the instructor, but everyone, including Lizzy, just called him Todd, after all it was the 70's. He gave Lizzy the creeps, but as he was a celebrated teacher, she kept her mouth shut. She set up at one of the easels standing around the platform, where a model had already started a 20 minute pose.

Coming from a suburban Catholic high school, the first time a man had come into class and shed his clothes mortified Lizzy. After two years however, drawing a naked man or woman was as commonplace as sketching a bowl of fruit. Ted, who was today's subject, was handsome and well-built. Most of the models were neither. He was also completely stoned, which was business as usual when he sat for the class. Lizzy could never figure out why he would pose totally _au natural_ except for white crew socks on his feet.

Lizzy started to draw but paused as Todd came up behind her, so close his tobacco and clove scented breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. _Oh how chic, Turkish cigarettes_. Even her thoughts about him were sarcastic.

Tall, slim and sophisticated, he was the epitome of artistic cool in John Lennon glasses, and he knew it. His jeans and black t-shirt were just snug enough to highlight his physical assets. In Lizzy's estimation he was a sleaze, using his position as teacher to bed as many female students as possible per semester. It was always uncomfortable to have someone watch you draw, but Todd made her skin crawl. She always felt like she needed a shower after his class.

After a few comments, he moved on and she breathed a relieved sigh. If he wasn't such a talented and successful artist, she would have reported him and _ended her career before it started._

Jeff Powers, a fellow third year student, was at the easel next to her. He was ordinary in every way except for a long ponytail of silky black hair, which was the envy of every girl in the class. A good draftsman in his own right, he was one of her classmates in the Illustration department and Lizzy's only true friends at the Institute, other than her roommate. He looked at her with sympathy, rolling his eyes and mouthing _asshole._ Lizzy smiled slightly and got down to work.

3 hours flew by. There was still another three hours of drawing to go, but Lizzy was grateful for the arrival of 11:30 am, lunch break. Jeff stopped before he broke for the door. "I gotta run and buy some pantone paper, but see you later ok." He inclined his head towards Todd. "Don't get caught alone with that jerk." She nodded her head and smiled as she brushed several stray brown curls out of her eyes.

By the time her things were packed up, she was the only student left. Todd was trying to rouse Ted, who had fallen asleep during the final pose of the morning session. Lizzy slipped out into the court yard and stretched her sore muscles in the weak November sunshine. Some one was playing a sitar in the corner. _What a freak show this place could be sometimes._

She walked out to the hot dog cart on the corner and got a dog and a TAB. At only a dollar, it was the cheapest lunch going and all she could afford till payday next week. Art supplies were expensive and ate up most of her paycheck. She couldn't complain. Her folks were picking up most of the dime for college, at least the part student loans didn't cover.

Back in the courtyard, she sat on a low wall and ate her lunch alone. Although she was personable and ok looking, in an ethnic European sort of way, she was a bit of an outcast. Raised in suburban Hillsborough by blue collar parents, the _city kids_ considered her an unsophisticated hick. She continually had to prove herself, despite her talent and drive. To make things worse, she was in the commercial arts program, which according to the students on the fine arts side of the house, made her a sellout. _Was it so square to want to pay your bills?_

Lizzy pulled her long wavy brown hair into a messy tail and slipped a pair of shades over her brown eyes. She stretched out on the wall and took a deep breath. After the remaining 3 hours of drawing class, she still had another 3 hours split between art history and English lit. That would put her home no earlier than 7pm. With assignments to finish, it was going to be another late night.

A shadow blocked out her futile attempt to gather a few minutes of tepid sun. She opened her eyes and saw Pam, her roommate, obstructing the light.

"Geez, can't I get a minute's worth of daylight?" Lizzy sat up and Pam plopped down beside her.

Pam was Lizzy's roommate of two years and she was everything Lizzy wasn't. Tall, blond and gorgeous she was a San Francisco trust fund baby. Talented enough to get into the Institute, she was a painter, who vacillated between trying to express herself and find herself. Whatever short comings she had academically, she compensated for with personality and sex. Pam was not terribly choosy about her partners, male or female and used the bedroom as a tool to get what she wanted. Lizzy suspected she would go far in the art scene in San Francisco.

It would have been really easy to hate Pam. Her steady income, breezy personality, beauty and sexual appetites were off putting for many of the young women at school. To Lizzy however, hating her would be like hating the wind. She was truly a force of nature, vibrant, funny and a loyal friend. Theirs was an odd pairing, Lizzy with her feet on the ground and Pam with her head in the clouds. Somehow it just worked. One bonus for Lizzy, on any given Saturday night there was always plenty of booze, the occasional joint and her choice of cast off males if she was in the mood. Sometimes it bugged the hell out of her to play second fiddle to her stunning roommate, but in all honesty the last two years had been one wild ride.

"Are you going out with me tonight," Pam asked taking a sip from Lizzy's diet soda.

"No can do. I gotta finish the assignment for my illustration class tomorrow or I'm screwed."

Pam laughed, "The plight of the working girl, deadlines, deadlines, deadlines. You should transfer to the painting department. We don't fuss about inconsequential things like _time_."

"Yeah, but you've got daddy's money to keep you afloat. I'm gonna have to work for a living at some point."

Pam adopted her classic pouty face and a melodramatic southern belle voice. "Oh, my poor Ms. Lizzy, forced to toil with pen and ink to keep the wolves from her door."

"Shut up, Pam." They both laughed. This was part of their continual patter.

"Come on, _Van Morrison_ is at the Matrix tonight."

Lizzy looked at her watch. "Sorry, art waits for no woman." Lizzy gave Pam a hug and stood up. "Hey, do me favor and be careful tonight, don't bring home any strays. I gotta get back to class. Todd is being a pain in the butt about _tardiness_ today. Geez what dirt bag."

"Hey don't say that about Todd, you know how to get an A in his class."

Lizzy shook her head in revulsion, yeah she knew exactly what Pam had done to get an A in Todd's class.

"Hey, don't look at me like that Lizzy. As opposed to most of these old geezers, he was GREAT in the sack."

Lizzy worried about her roommate. Even though she seemed to live a charmed life, Lizzy was afraid that one day Pam's bohemian lifestyle would catch up to her.

"Well if you don't come tonight, you have to come with me to the gallery opening tomorrow. Annie Leibovitz from Rolling Stone, It's going to be a real trip. Totally A list."

"Come on, you know I have to work tomorrow night," Lizzy was now getting a little aggravated with her carefree friend.

"It doesn't start till eight. Come after you're off. Please." Pam stood and said the last bit yanking on Lizzy's pony tail and drawing out the words in a childlike plea.

Lizzy laughed at her wacky friend and agreed to meet her tomorrow. Pam was right about one thing. Gallery openings, which she could never get into without Pam's presence, were always far out. The young women hugged again and Lizzy returned to the studio for the rest of class.

00000

It was after 7 pm. Lizzy had survived another 9 hour day and was trudging up the stairs to her apartment. She could hear the phone ringing as she shoved her key into the lock. Dropping her bags at the door she ran in and grabbed the phone, calling out a breathless hello into the receiver.

Nothing. She was getting a little sick of callerless phone calls. She had talked to Pam about changing the number or calling the cops, but Pam just laughed it off. Lizzy slammed down the phone in disgust and went back out to retrieve her bags. When she came back in, she noticed there was a note next to the phone.

 **L, I borrowed your brown maxi skirt, burnt orange turtleneck and macramé belt. I promise I won't wreck them. Might not make it home tonight. Don't work too hard! See you at school tomorrow, there's something I need to talk to you about. Love, P**

 **P.S. I left you some chicken in the fridge.**

 _Typical Pam._ _I finally save up the dough to get some new threads and she wears them before I even get a chance. They better be in good shape when she gets back, or I won't have anything to wear to the gallery opening._ Lizzy pulled the dish of chicken out of the fridge, ignoring the pile of dishes in the sink. _Well, at least she left me some dinner for a change._

00000

Mike pulled up to Steve's Union Street apartment at 7 am and leaned on the horn. Steve poked his head out of the door and flashed a number one with his index finger. Mike turned off the car and pulled out the paper. One minute usually stretched into 5 by his partner's watch.

Steve jogged down the stairs as he put the finishing touches on the Windsor knot of his tie.

"Why so early? I didn't expect you for another 30 minutes."

"We've got another one."

 _ **A/N: So I'm back. And back in school, college this time. I'm hoping this will turn out to be a straight up murder mystery, but who knows? I was a student at an important urban art college during the run of the show. (Unfortunately not in San Francisco) It was a weird and wonderful time and a place full of colorful characters and monumental egos. As I tell my high school students when they think they're going to shock me with something, "Really? You do know I went to art college in the 70's!" I should add that none of the original characters represent any actual person, living or dead, so if I went to college with you, please, don't sue me. Hope you enjoy the story. MBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Where?" Steve slid into the passenger's seat as Mike threw the LTD into gear and pulled away from the curb.

"Palace of Fine Arts"

Steve shook his head, "What do we know?"

"Woman walking her dog found the body about 6:00 am. Nothing's been touched because of the way the body was, um displayed. Fortunately, the first uniform on the scene was up to date on his bulletins. He called it right in, they called me, I called Lenny."

"Oh." Steve stared out the window, steeling himself for the murderous tableau.

The press had christened him or her "The Da Vinci Killer." This would make the third body in two weeks. Victims staged to resemble famous works of art. Despite monumental effort on the case, they were no closer to finding out the identity of the killer than they were after the first body turned up. Steve wondered idly what art work would be copied in fatal homage this time.

Victim number one was Gary Kohler, a local street artist who sold painting of the Golden Gate Bridge at Fisherman's Wharf. He was found naked on the roundabout for the Powell Street line, in a pose reminiscent of Da Vinci's "Vitruvian Man." Neither Steve nor Mike had made the art connection and had barely begun the investigation when victim number two showed up in the koi pond at Golden Gate Park.

"It's Ophelia" Steve told Mike when they had gotten their first view of the second victim. The as yet to be identified 20-something woman floated in the shallow water with only her face and hands exposed. Her long reddish hair and full length dress billowed in sinuous clouds around her head and body. Wild flowers dotted the surface of the still water. Steve knew a little about art history from college classes, and "Ophelia" was a fairly common subject but this version, by Pre-Raphaelite artist Millais, was used in every English literature textbook he had ever seen.

Mike and Steve were just linking the two murders together when the press had jumped on the case, declaring the presence of a serial killer in San Francisco. Why or how the newspaper had gotten their information was a mystery to the detectives, but the sensational press attention would not help them a bit.

"Do we have enough manpower to keep the press away from the scene?"

"God, I hope so." Mike, in particular, was irked by the speed with which the fourth estate arrived and exploited cases like this. "Damn reporters are like a school of piranha, especially that Joe Randolph."

Steve shook his head in agreement, "How the hell do you think he finds out about these scenes so quickly?"

"Wish I knew," Mike said as he pulled the LTD up the curb. The pair were barely out of the car when they were accosted by the very report.

"What do we have Lieutenant?" asked Randolph, notebook and pencil in hand.

"I just got here, Joe," Mike responded with exasperation, "You probably know more than I do at this point." Mike and Steve walked by the reporter without stopping and ducked under the crime scene tape.

"Is it the Da Vinci Killer?"

Mike stopped and wheeled on the reporter. "Why do you vultures have to capitalize on things like this?" Steve put his hand on Mike's sleeve, but Mike was already on a roll. He took a step back toward Randolph, dragging Steve with him. " _The Da Vinci Killer_. You gave him a name and a stage. Now he's famous, the public's terrified and our job is twice as hard."

"I'm only doing my _job_ , Lieutenant. The public has a right to know. If the police can't handle the scrutiny, well…"

"Mark my words, the more you sensationalize things like this, the worse they get," Mike paused in anger, " _and the more people will die._ You're making this guy into some kind of celebrity and giving him exactly what he wants."

"His 15 minutes of fame," Steve added the Andy Warhol quote quietly without even thinking. Mike turned and glared at him before turning back to the reporter.

"This has NOTHING to do with public's right to know. This has everything to do with selling papers and making _your_ byline more important."

Steve doubled his hold on Mike's arm, attempting to put the brakes on his rant. Even though Mike was vocalizing his exact thoughts, he knew antagonizing the press would just make things worse.

Mike shook off Steve's grip. "Good day, Mr. Randolph." He spun and strode purposefully down the lawn. Steve turned and jogged to catch up with Mike.

"Why do you let him get to you like that?"

"He's a real bottom feeder, that one," Mike shook his head in disgust.

"I know, I know. But how about you cool it and let me fly off the handle next time, Lieutenant? You _are_ the boss and have a reputation to protect." Steve said with a wink.

Mike smiled and swatted Steve on the arm, "Wise guy!"

The light moment evaporated as the latest victim came into view. "Sweet Jesus." Mike said in a whisper.

"No, it's Saint Sebastian."

"What?"

"You said "Sweet Jesus, but it's not, it's Saint Sebastian."

"How the heck do you know that?"

"Endless hours in in the dark."

"What? Mike was getting impatient.

"College. Art history class. You come in, they turn off the light and show slide after slide after slide as they drone on and on and on. I guess I actually absorbed some of it, when I wasn't sound asleep." Steve pointed to the body. "That is Saint Sebastian."

They both gaped at the corpse of a handsome, well-built young man. He was chained to one of the classical columns of the circular temple, which was the centerpiece of the park.

00000

Lizzy started as the alarm clock announced the beginning of another day. As anticipated, she had been up until the wee hours of the morning, turning in after 3 am. Looking down at the clothes she'd slept in, she decide they would have to do. She brushed her teeth, put on some deodorant and braided her hair. _Good enough for a Friday._ She was just making tea when she heard the apartment door unlock and open.

"You're up early," she called as Pam stumbled in the door, "Want some tea?"

"Late, I'm up late," Pam corrected, slamming the door shut and walking into the galley style kitchen. "And, yes, I'd adore some tea. I don't know how I'm going to stay awake in class today."

"You're actually going to class?" Lizzy eyed her friend, who looked tired and slightly disheveled. All she could think of was how much better Pam looked in her new clothes that she would.

"Yeah, I have to. That old witch Eichenmuller said she was gonna flunk me if I don't turn up."

Lizzy picked the teapot up and poured two mugs, setting them down on a small table before dropping into a seat. "Hey, it's just drawing anatomy, only three hours, then you can take a nap."

"Thank God for small favors and Friday afternoons off."

"I know, I wish I didn't have to go to work this afternoon, I'm wrecked."

"Can't you blow it off this afternoon?"

"Not if I want to eat. How was the concert?"

"Unbelievable, too bad you missed it. Afterwards was pretty great, too. I met this cool guy from…"

"Save me, I don't want to know," Lizzy talked over her friend after draining her cup. She got up and grabbed her bag and case, "Do me a favor, would you _please_ hang up my NEW outfit before you go to class, I'd like to wear it tonight to the opening."

Pam looked down at the outfit and smiled, "What this old thing?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes as she opened the door. "See you after work. Are you going to wait for me, or should I meet you at the gallery?"

"Meet me there, I'll leave the invitation on the counter, if I can find it."

Lizzy was half way to class before she remembered that Pam had wanted to tell her something. _Guess it wasn't that important._

She was walking down the hall to the studio when Jeff came out of the anatomy classroom door.

"Hey" Jeff smiled as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Hey yourself. What's up?"

"Ted didn't show. Eichenmuller's pissed. She canceled class."

 _Pam truly did live a charmed life._ Lizzy considered going to the payphone and calling the apartment. _No, it would do her good to drag her ass down here, even if class was canceled._

00000

"What do we have Bernie?" Mike asked as he and Steve approached the coroner.

"White male, 25-30."

"Cause of death, time?"

"Geez, Mike. I've been here all of ten minutes. I haven't even gotten near the body. Photos are done, the Lab guys are checking it out now. Although I can tell you for certain the arrows had nothing to do with it. No blood from the wounds, he was dead before he was skewered. Whoever is killing these folks is a real nut job."

Now up closer, Mike could see that the man's well-muscled torso served as a pincushion for a half dozen or more arrows. His body was nude save for a small white drape across his groin. Heavy chains bound him to the column, keeping him upright. His head sagged to the left, chin to chest.

" _Martyrdom of St. Sebastian_ , although I can't tell you if the perp was going for Botticelli, Mantegna, Bernini or Rubens, they all used the same subject, amongst many other artist." Lenny Murchison said as he came abreast of the three men.

Mike looked sideways at Steve, who shrugged his shoulder.

"Lenny."

"What? I have a minor in art history, so sue me."

"What does it tell us about the killer?"

"Other than the fact that he is well educated?"

"Yeah, other than that."

"I'm still working on that, but I think Bernie's assessment was pretty accurate. Nut Job is as good as any description right now."

"For this, we pay the big consulting bucks." Mike looked over and saw one of the patrolmen trying to calm a woman with a Chihuahua in her arms. "Steve go talk to the witness, see if you can get anything from her, I'll stay here with our two _experts."_

00000

Steve walked towards the edge of the park, happy to put some distance between himself and the latest victim.

"Inspector Keller, this is Mrs. Harrison."

"Mrs. Harrison, I understand that you are the one who found the body."

"Yes, yes I did. I was taking Brutus here for his morning walkies. We live just across the way." She indicated a house directly across the street, in full view of the crime scene. "We'd only gone a little way down the path when Brutus started barking to beat the band. I tried to get him to stop, but he kept at it, finally I looked up and saw, saw…" Steve gave the woman his handkerchief as she started to weep and cuddled the struggling dog closer to her breast. "Well I think pour Brutus is just as upset as I am. There, there pumpkin, mommy's got you."

"What time was that Mrs. Harrison?" Steve attempted to get the witness back on track.

"Well it had to be a little after 6. Harvey had already left for work and the paper was delivered, so definitely 6. This is really horrible. I read all about the girl at Golden Gate Park and the man on Powell Street in the paper. Do you think it's the same person?"

"We don't know ma'am."

"Well, I tell you it's just terrible, a person's not safe in this city anymore. Why, that Mr. Randolph in the paper says…"

Steve politely cut her off. "You live right across the street, did you hear or see anything odd last night?"

"Last night, last night. Well, I watched _Flip Wilson_ at 8. Have you seen that Inspector? _The devil made me do it!_ And of course _Ironside_ was on at 9. I did watch something at 10, some cop show, but I don't recall what it was. Then I took Brutus out before I went to bed."

Steve listened patiently, this wasn't going anywhere. "Anything else, Mrs. Harrison?"

"Now let me think, I got up about 2 am. Brutus was making an awful racket. I did look out the window because I heard a lot of banging and music, that awful rock and roll music. I saw one of those cars, you know the kind that hippies used to drive, looks like a box on wheels. Probably was a bunch of kids smoking dope. I watch the news you know. I should call the city because it was parked right up on the grass, ripped up half the lawn over there."

Steve thought a moment. "A Volkswagen Bus? Did you notice what color it was?"

"I guess that's what they are called. I didn't see the color, it was dark but it had those bumper sticker things all over the back."

"Thank you very much ma'am. If you remember anything else, anything at all, give me a call." Steve fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to the middle aged woman. The uniformed officer walked Mrs. Harrison across the street as Steve returned to the crime scene.

The body was in the process of being loaded into a van when Steve rejoined Mike and Lenny.

"Anything"

"Maybe. She remembered seeing what might be a VW Bus up here on the grass about 2am. Whoever it was made a lot of noise. She said the vehicle had a lot of bumper stickers on the back. We probably should get the uniforms to talk to the neighbors, see if anybody else saw anything. Bernie get anything?"

"Yeah. A .22 in the base of the brain, just like the other two. Body also reeked of pot. Odds are, whenever he died, he didn't feel a thing."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Just a shorty to keep the story rolling and to give you a few things to mull over. Much longer selection tomorrow, I hope. And I'm at it again, brutalizing another foreign language, Italian this time. The North Beach Area, where the story is set, was traditionally an Italian-American Neighborhood. I apologize in advance for any errors.**_

Lizzy walked in the door accompanied by the sound of chimes. Mrs. Molinaro looked up from the onion she was slicing and smiled.

"How is my _bella donna_ today?"

"Ok I guess, tired."

"Hungry, yes?"

"Always, _Nonna_ *, you know that."

"Then you sit and eat. _Pasta Fagioli_?"

"Of course." Lizzy laughed as Nonna dish up a bowl of the thick tomato-based soup. Living over a deli owned by an older Italian widow had its perks. Mrs. Molinaro insisted she be called Nonna as her worthless son (her words) Vincenzo had yet to give her a grandchild or even find a good Italian girl to marry. She was always quick to offer a meal and leniency on rent day for her _Mona Lisa_ and _Venus_ , as she called Lizzy and Pam. She had come to love Nonna and appreciated the way she doted on her and her roommate. The time and attention she gave her adopted grandmother was its own reward.

Vince Molinaro worked part-time as a custodian at the Institute. He was the reason the girls had found such a primo apartment within walking distance of the school. A bit oily, Lizzy always felt there was something weird going on behind Vince's eyes and he never failed to turn up in studios when well-endowed models were posing. The perv factor hadn't stopped her and Pam from jumping on the apartment when it came available. The girls were careful to avoid Vince whenever possible.

"You go to work today?"

"Yes, Nonna." Lizzy looked at her watch, "I need to run up and change into my uniform, really soon."

"I no like you wait tables for tourists. How come you no work for Nonna here at the deli?"

This was Nonna's constant tune. Lizzy knew Mrs. Molinaro couldn't afford to have her work there. She wouldn't mind trading work for rent, but it also meant she would have to work with Vince when he manned the counter. She couldn't bear to tell the old woman that her son made her uncomfortable.

The chimes rang again. Vince. It was if the thought of him conjured up his presence.

"Hello, Mamma. What's for lunch?"

" _Pasta Fagioli_ on the stove, help yourself." Lizzy shivered as Vince ogled her on the way to the kitchen. _Definitely time to leave._

"You don't want me to work here. Vince can take care of the counter. Plus, if you were my boss we wouldn't have any time to visit, would we. I'd always be working when you were off."

Mrs. Molinaro gave her a motherly hug. " _Vero_. Be careful, this city no safe for pretty girls like you."

She gave the older woman a kiss on each cheek and headed for the stairs, "Yes, Nonna. _Ti voglio bene_."

Unlocking the door, she called for Pam and found her sound asleep on the couch. Lizzy went quietly into the bedroom and slipped on her uniform. Looking around for her new outfit for later, she was surprised to find it neatly hung in the bathroom. She covered it with a cleaner's bag and tossed a change of shoes in her purse.

A quick glance in the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes. Some day she would get enough sleep, but not tonight. She had 8 hours of waiting tables and then there was an A-List party to go to. Lizzy checked the kitchen counter and was startled to find the envelope bearing the invitation sitting there. _Geez, two for two. What's come over you_? If she hadn't been running so late she would have woken up her normally unreliable roommate to see what was wrong. She left the apartment, locked the door and hoofed the 10 blocks to her job at No. 9 Fisherman's Grotto on the Wharf.

When she got to Fisherman's Wharf, she was surprised. Gary's ad hoc art gallery was not set up on the corner. In fact, now that she though about it she hadn't seen him for a while. Gary Kohler had graduated from the Institute at the end of Lizzy's freshman year. Unable to find work, he peddled schlock canvases of San Francisco landmarks to the tourists. They weren't good friends, but friendly enough to talk from time to time, and she was surprised that he would miss a lucrative Friday night.

"Girl, don't you read the paper?" Mary, the head gossip of the wait staff was busy counting menus. "Gary was murdered by the Da Vinci Killer. They found him on the cable car turnaround. Two victims so far, but I heard on the radio that there might be another one. He poses the bodies like works of art." Lizzy was stunned. This was the first she was aware of it, not that she kept up with the news. Geez, _I must be living in hole if I didn't know about a murder in my own neighborhood._ She made a vow to pick up a newspaper every once in a while.

00000

Steve hung up the phone and walked into Mike's office. Mike looked up from the report he was reading. "That was Bernie. We finally found our _Ophelia._ Anna Kearns, 21. Parents filed a missing persons report when they hadn't heard from her. They just made a positive ID."

Mike stood up. "Are they still downstairs?"

"Yep…"

Mike was out the door before Steve could finish his sentence. They found the couple sitting on a battered couch in a small waiting area outside the morgue. The middle aged woman was weeping quietly into an embroidered handkerchief.

"First Mr. and Mrs. Kearns, let us offer you our deepest condolences for your loss." Mike said after he had introduced himself and Steve. He handed Mrs. Kearns a cup of water.

"Thank you. She was such a good girl. She worked so hard between school and her job at the gallery." She gasped, "Oh my God, we have to call Ted!" Mrs. Kearns started to weep again in earnest.

"Who's Ted?"

"Ted's her boyfriend," Mr. Kearns answered the question as he tried to calm his wife. "He goes to school with her. I think he works part time over at Institute of Art."

"Where did they go to school?"

"Berkeley. Anna was getting a degree in Art History. She was an intern at the Charles Campbell Gallery on Chestnut. Gosh, she was so proud when she got the position. That's where she met Ted. He was such a handsome guy, he worked as a model." Mr Kearns swiped his hand over his eyes. "How could this happen, Lieutenant?"

Before he could reply, Steve looked pointedly at Mike and asked, "The Charles Campbell Gallery, isn't that down by the Institute as well?"

Mike knew that victim number one was an Institute alumni. He nodded in agreement with Steve's line of questioning.

"Yes, just 2 block up. Anna was so excited. There is a big opening tonight. Some girl photographer, works for that druggie magazine."

"Annie Leibovitz of Rolling Stone?" Steve had seen a blurb about the show in the paper.

Mike raised an eyebrow at his partner. Steve's range of interests never ceased to amaze him.

"Sounds right. I don't know. I just know that Anna was over the moon about the event."

"Excuse us a minute." Mike motioned to Steve and they stepped out of the room.

"Looks like all roads lead to Chestnut Street. Maybe the boyfriend?" Mike proposed.

"I don't know, maybe, but I have a hunch. Do we have the scene photos from this morning yet?"

"You'll have to ask Bernie. What are you thinking?"

"Stall the parents, I'll be right back."

Steve walked into the autopsy suite, "Bernie do we have photos of the latest vic?"

Bernie went over to his desk and picked up a manila folder. "Yeah. You got a lead?"

"Just a wild guess, but who knows."

Steve returned to the waiting area with a folder containing the black and white head shot. "Mr. and Mrs. Kearns would you mind looking at a photo for me. I know this has been a difficult morning, but it could be important."

"Certainly Inspector."

Steve opened the folder.

It was Mr. Kearns turn to gasp. "That's Ted, you don't mean to say that he's dead too?"

 ***grandmom**


	4. Chapter 4

Steve read the report aloud as he walked with his partner to the parking lot, continuing the conversation as they drove. "Ted Brooks, 23. Originally from Los Angeles." After getting basic statistics from DMV, Steve had called in a favor from an old girlfriend at the registrar's office at Berkeley. "He was in his second year of his Masters in Art in Education. He shared an apartment with Anna Kearns in North Beach."

"Address?"

"2310 Mason Street, apartment 3, just past San Francisco Street."

"A block over from the turnaround where Kohler was found. Even though Brooks and Burke turned up outside of the Beach, everything's happened in about a five block square area. No way that's a coincidence."

"Our killer's hunting ground?"

"Maybe. Kohler went to the institute, although he lives in Tenderloin now, and we think Brooks worked there part time. Kearns worked up the street and they live in the neighborhood, there has got to be a connection. After we swing by the apartment, I think we need to make a stop at the school and then the gallery."

Steve shook his head in agreement as the men went quiet for a few moments, both hoping they could reason this one out before they found a new "Work of Art."

"Funny they lived in the city. How long would it take them to get to Berkeley every day?" Mike asked.

"I think the whole "arts" scene is a very urban thing. The galleries and their jobs were in the city. Plus now that BART* is open, it's a cable car ride up to the Powell Street Station and a quick train over to Berkeley. You don't need a car if you live in the city, a big plus for students and staving artists." Steve pulled up to the curb.

Mike knocked on the first floor apartment door marked "MANAGER."

A small, older man with thick, black framed glasses opened the door several inches, just to the length of the security chain. Mike held out his ID. "Police. Sir, can we speak with you."

The man opened the door and stepped out. "You finally going to bust that guy in 3?"

"Why would we be here to arrest him, sir?

"He's a dope fiend, I smell that, what's it called, oh yeah, marijuana all the time up there."

"Well no, we are not here for that, although we would like to take a look at the apartment. How long have Mr. Brooks and Ms. Kearns lived here?"

"He's been here two years, she moved in about 6 months ago. She's a sweet kid, don't know what she sees in that guy. Do you know how he makes a living? He models naked as a jaybird, not a stitch on, at that crazy art school Chestnut. And kids these days, no morals, living together before they get married, why in my day…" Mike turned around slightly and raised an eyebrow to Steve as the manager prattled on.

Steve responded with a silent _, why are you looking at me?_ smirk.

Mike turned back to the owner. "Sir, we really need to see the apartment."

"What did he do? I knew it was only a matter of time before the cops showed up about him."

"I'm afraid he's dead sir."

The news of the death of his tenant effectively silenced the landlord. After trudging up three flights of stairs, Mike slipped the key in the lock and opened up the apartment.

The small, tidy suite had a definite artsy flair. The furniture was covered with colorful Indonesian batik cloths. Abstract painting and Native American carvings adorned the walls. The place had the distinctive odor of pot, still present despite a liberal dose of sandalwood incense.

"Should we get the lab guys out here?" Steve asked as he observed the living space.

"Doesn't look like the crime scene, does it, but you never know. Be careful what you touch, we'll give them a call when we finish looking around. I'll start out here, you hit the bedroom," Mike said as he looked through a stack of papers on the small counter adjacent to a kitchen.

He saw a hastily penned note dated the previous Saturday on a pink note tablet.

 _Ted,_

 _Going home for a couple of days. I'll call you later in the week._

 _Love, Anna_

Mike wondered if that was actually in Anna's hand, or the killers. They would to need to check back with her parent. He left it on the tablet for the lab boys to collect and fingerprint.

There were several bills and advertisements, plus a few post cards. He picked up a large envelope. It had no address and wasn't sealed, but the back bore the imprint of the Charles Campbell Gallery at 647 Chestnut Street, San Francisco.

He slipped out the engraved card. It was an invitation to a reception for the opening of a new show that very evening. Setting the card to the side he continued to look in and around various cabinets in the living area, finding nothing else of interest.

After about 10 minutes Steve exited the bedroom with several items, which included a few dime bags and a framed photo of Ted and Anna. The picture looked as if it was taken in Golden Gate Park, near where she was found. Mike looked at the drugs and sighed. He took the photo from Steve.

"Nice looking kids. You find anything useful."

"You mean like death threats or signed confessions?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "NO, funny boy, I mean like work schedules or phone number of friends so we can track their movements over the last week or so."

"Well as a matter of fact…" Steve handed Mike a pay stub from the San Francisco Institute of Art and a hand written schedule with times and names written on it. Ted's name was scrawled at the top. "He was a busy guy, must not have been carrying much of a class load at Berkeley if he was free to model this much. Looks like the last time he worked was Thursday for Todd Walters. He was scheduled to work for Millie Eichenmuller on Friday, but we know he didn't make that one."

Mike looked at the pay stub. "Seems like a pretty easy way to earn a living. You ever consider anything like this to pick extra cash in college?"

Steve blushed deeply and cleared his throat.

Mike looked wide eyed at his younger partner, about to press the issue. He decided against it as Steve thrust a small address book, the kind women usually kept in their purses, into his hands without making eye contact. Mike filed the modeling conversation for a later date.

"We'll need to take this and make some phone calls. Did you find a wallet or handbag?"

"No, but I did find this." Mike showed Steve the note.

"What are you thinking Mike, written by the killer to explain away her absence?"

"We won't know until we talk to her parents and compare the writing to a sample from our victim. We'll let the lab boys take care of that."

Mike then picked up the invitation and handed it to Steve.

"It's for the opening tonight." Steve wasn't normally star struck, but the thought of who might turn up at an Annie Leibovitz event was intriguing.

"We probably should check it out." Mike stated flatly.

Steve laughed out loud as he imagined a fedora and trench coat clad Mike at an Art Gallery opening. Particularly one with a _Rolling Stone_ connection. "We, Mike? Maybe you better let me handle this one."

"Why? What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing." Steve said, still chortling as Mike relocked the apartment door and they started down the steps. The apartment manager was standing in the foyer when Mike and Steve came down the last flight.

"We'll keep this, sir." Mike said pocketing the key. "Our lab team will be by later today. Please don't let anybody else up there until they get here. Has anyone been around last night or this morning?"

"Not today, but a friend of theirs has been around a lot lately, almost always when nobody's home. They gave him a key, so I thought he was ok, although if you ask me, he was a little suspicious, with all that long hair. Probably one of Ted's druggie friends."

"Can you describe him?"

"Oh, I didn't really get a good look at him, just young. Denim jacket and jeans, dark hair. About your height, inspector. He drove one of those vans."

Mike and Steve both looked up. "What kind of van?" Steve asked.

"You know, one of those German jobs, blue and white I think, with the bumper stickers and peace signs on the back."

Mike looked at Steve. "Sir, do you think you could describe this man to one of our sketch artists?"

"I don't know, maybe, like I said, I just saw him in passing."

00000

Lizzy walked out of the kitchen and onto the dock. She let waning sun fall on her face, lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, closing her eyes. She knew it was a vile habit, but every once in a while it calmed her nerves and helped her keep her sanity in check.

Four hours into her shift, she had just about had it with tourists, especially ones that didn't tip. Maybe she should just work for Nonna at the Deli. Her thoughts drifted idly to the internship she had lost at the gallery. Her life would have been so much easier if that had come through, but she was beat out by a Berkeley girl. Oh well, at least she'd get to go to the opening tonight.

She walked a little way along the dock to look down at the sea lions in residence. Their barks made her laugh as she finished her cigarette and ground out the butt on the decking. She wrapped her arms around herself as a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze off the bay crawled up her spine. She looked back over her shoulder, suddenly sure that someone was watching her, but only saw a crowd of tourist.

A newspaper box by the railing caught her eye and she bought the afternoon edition of the _Chronicle,_ not really believing that Gary was dead. He'd always been nice to her, even when she was a freshman. The front page article references a second victim, staged to look like Millais' "Ophelia," a painting that had always haunted her and now a third victim found that morning at the Palace of Fine Arts. Lizzy checked her watch and lit another cigarette. The thought of three art-related murder victims made her shiver once again.

00000

After calling in an APB on the suspect vehicle, Mike and Steve pulled up in front of the San Francisco Institute of Art and followed the sign to the main office. Upon flashing their ID's, they were directed to the office of the Dean, George Stein.

"I don't really see how I can help you gentlemen. The last two victims weren't students here and Mr. Kohler was an alum. The school's name shouldn't even be associated with something like this. That reporter in the paper is splashing it all over the front page, and well, we really don't need that type of publicity."

Mike was not surprised by the Dean's response to their inquiry. He'd seen the "head in the sand" mentality many times before, particularly in large public organizations. Steve was not nearly as understanding or diplomatic.

"Don't you care about the safety of your students?" Steve blurted out before Mike could stop him.

Mike eyed his younger partner and attempted to placate the increasingly reticent dean.

"Excuse my impulsive colleague here," Mike started, giving Steve a cease and desist glare. "We know you care about the welfare of these young people, sir. Any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated."

He sent the detectives to the Office of Alumni Affairs, who, although helpful, gave them little new information on Kohler. They were then directed to Todd Walter's classroom.

Steve knocked quietly on the door before entering the classroom, with Mike on his heels. Several students looked up, but quickly went back to drawing a young, dark-haired woman, who was lounging sans attires on a bed of white drapery. Mike startled at the naked model and looked away awkwardly. The teacher looked up and strode towards them, waving his hand to lead the officers out of the room.

"What can I do for you officers?" he asked with a voice oozing distain.

"Todd Walters?" Mike asked politely, ignoring the teacher's attitude and showing his ID.

"Yep."

"We understand that Ted Brooks modeled for you yesterday."

"Yeah, what of it? He models for me all the time. Don't you two storm troopers have anything better to roust kids about a little weed?"

Steve looked at Mike and mouthed, "I got this one," before turning back to the arrogant instructor.

"Mr. Walters, I'm afraid it's a little more involved than that. Mr. Brooks was found dead this morning at the Palace of Fine Art. We're pretty sure you were one of the last people to see him alive."

 _ ***The BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station in Berkeley open in January of 1973. The incomplete Mission Street station was used for the Season 1 Episode "Thirty Year Pin"**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I'm not a psychological profiler or a forensic pathologist, but I am a deft hand at the internet. If I hosed up the science too badly, please let me know.**_

The conversation with Todd Walters had gone downhill in a hurry. The handsome man with the lecherous nature and giant ego had very little time for Mike and Steve and even less information. He was dismissive of Steve and openly challenged Mike for dominance in the conversation, which resulted in zero information.

"Nice guy," Mike said as they walked to the car.

"Oh, I've run into his type before at Berkeley. The _enfant terrible_ , this version, art rock star. I bet he's sleeping with half the girls in the class. Ego the size of all outdoors, everything, including morality and the law is beneath his lofty perch. This type of guy is one of the reasons I left college."

Mike and Steve departed the school. A quick pause at the locked-up tight Campbell Gallery followed by a stop at the deli at Chestnut and Mason for lunch left them with no more information than they had when they'd left the apartment.

Steve pulled the LTD into the garage and the two inspectors headed for the morgue for an update. Steve had wisely passed on eating at their deli side trip on the way back to Bryant Street. For him, a visit to the morgue on a full stomach was always a huge mistake.

Charlie looked up from the autopsy table on which a naked Ted Brooks was displayed in his final pose or more accurately final repose. Steve hung by the door while Mike strode in for a better look.

"I don't have much yet. The blood work isn't done, but I thinks it's safe to say he was out cold when he was shot and the killer knew what he or she was doing." Charlie turned the body to the side to display a wound at the top of the neck. Mike leaned in for a closer look.

"My best guess is our vic was incapacitated and lying face down of the floor." He indicated the path of the shot entering at the base of the skull. "The gun was close, but not so close as to blow off the face or the top of the head. The small caliber helped with that as well. The shot took out the autonomic nervous system, death was pretty much instantaneous. There wouldn't have even been a lot of blood, because the heart stopped almost immediately and gravity would have pulled any blood into the skull. This is a really effective way to do somebody in, if you ask me."

He handed a metal tray that contained a .22 slug to Mike. "It's amazing how much damage that little baby does when it's delivered strategically. I'm fairly certain the ballistics will match the other two victims."

"How soon after death was the body posed?" Steve asked his question from the other side of the room.

"Same as the others, pretty quick. There's no sign of lividity contrary to the position he was found in and rigor was definitely not set when he was displayed, so I'd say he was posed less than an hour after he was killed."

"Quick. That points to something that was meticulously arranged in advanced. We'll have to let Lenny know about that." Steve rubbed the back of his neck, anxious to depart the autopsy suite.

"Anything else?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, I did find something odd on the drape. It's some kind of oil. We haven't had time to analyze it yet, but my guess is it's either linseed oil or a low grade filtered olive oil. I'm going to recheck the other two to make sure, but since number one was found au natural and two was in the water, we might have missed it."

00000

Steve poured two cups of coffee and entered the glass enclosed office. Lenny was already seated in Steve's usual chair, so after handing Mike a cup, he leaned on top of the file cabinet in the corner.

"Can you give us something beyond _nut job_ now, Doctor?" Mike asked sarcastically.

The doctor rolled his eyes, "I can give you some generalizations, but until we can connect the dots between the victims, that is all they are, generalizations. Your killer is smart, knows at least a little bit about anatomy and is very organized. To kill that efficiently and display the bodies in public in under an hour is quite the high wire act. Tells me he or she, and I'm thinking he, has quite the ego, there is a certain, _l am so smart and clever,_ vibe in play."

Steve looked Mike, "Todd Walters?"

"Too easy, go on Lenny."

"He obviously knows about art. _The Vitruvian Man_ and _Ophelia_ are fairly common images, but _St. Sebastian_ is a little more arcane. The works don't seem connected to the victims at all. It's more about the tableau, creating a public spectacle.

Your killer knows his victims well enough to catch them unaware and drug them before killing them. So he either lives or works in the area, maybe even both, and he's not afraid to kill in his own back yard. He doesn't have a lot of respect for his victims, they are either in his way toward some other goal or they just serve as media for creating his own twisted brand of performance art.

He will kill again, and soon. His time line seems to be compressing, if you don't catch him quickly, expect to find more bodies."

Mike paused a moment before asking his next question. "Any thoughts on the oil, Lenny?"

"I doubt it has any symbolic meaning, it seems to me it might just be transfer from where he is dispatching his victim. Linseed oil is the type of oil used by artists, so if that's what it turns out to be, I think that leads you back to the Gallery or the Institute."

Steve looked at him with quizzical eyes. "And you know this because?"

"Art History minor, remember." Lenny paused briefly, "The only thing I know about olive oil is that it's good on salads."

"And you call me a wise guy!" Steve said in response to Lenny's last comment with an eye towards Mike. He looked at his watch as the doctor left the office. It was already past 4 pm. "Where do we go from here?"

"I think we have to look at our victims' movement before they got killed. There was nothing at Kohler's place. Nobody at the Warf, where he has his kiosk, could tell us anything. We have Kearns' address books so we can at least call her friends. The lab is following up on the note. We've got nothing on Brooks and a trip to Berkeley will have to wait till tomorrow."

"Do you think the dean will give us the list for Walters' Thursday class? Maybe one of them knows something about Brooks' last day."

"I don't think we can count on any help from the school, and we can't compel them to release that information without a court order. Walters definitely won't give us any help. We're going to have to find another way."

"What about the gallery?" Steve asked, secretly hoping his assignment would include a visit to the opening reception tonight.

"I think it's worth checking out." Mike slid the invitation over to Steve. "Perhaps a little subtle reconnaissance is in order this evening."

Steve smiled widely, "If you think it's _absolutely_ necessary, I guess I can handle it."

"Just don't forget you're a cop, buddy boy," said Mike with a smile and the wag of a finger.

"Yes, mother." Steve replied laughing as he left the office.

00000

Steve drove home with the invitation in his coat pocket. He stopped by the lab to see if they had any new information on the note before he left for the day. Mike was busy making phone calls, trying to get a fix on Anna and Ted's movements just before their deaths.

He parked the LTD at the curb in front of his Union Street apartment and took the steps two at a time. After ditching his tie and jacket he went to the fridge to see if it contained anything edible, his appetite back in full following the morgue visit. After striking out in the food department he grabbed a beer and flopped on the couch. He retrieved the invitation and tossed it on the coffee table with his keys, suddenly perplexed as to what one would wear to such an event. His sport coat and tie "cop suit" was totally out. That may have flown for a regular opening, but he was sure this was not going to be a suit and tie crowd. He shook his head and laughed, _geez, is this what women worry about before they go out._ Maybe he would have to give his next date a pass if she was running late. Daylight was dwindling in his apartment and after skipping lunch, the beer made him incredibly sleepy. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

A car horn blared in the street and Steve awoke with a start. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly nine. Great, he thought as he ran upstairs swapping his work clothes for jeans, boots, a black t-shirt and tweed sports jacket. It would have to do. He grabbed the invitation and the keys to his Porsche, hopping that any sartorial mistake was compensated for by turning up in his beloved, and really cool, car. As an afterthought, he slipped his sunglasses into this pocket before he blew out the front door.

00000

The dinner crowd was waning and her boss told her she could knock off early. Lizzy went into the restroom and stripped off her waitress uniform. She put on the turtle neck, maxi skirt and chucky-heeled lace up granny boots, attempting to transform herself into something a little more appealing. Unbraiding her hair, she used her fingers to comb through the matted curls, looking in the mirror and groaning. She grabbed the whole mop and coiled it into a sloppy twist, holding it while she dug for the chopsticks she kept in her bag. She shoved them through the knot, pinning it in place. She looked back into the mirror at the circle under her eyes and silently wished she'd listened when her mom had attempted to teach her to apply make-up. The natural look was not kind to people who didn't get enough sleep.

She really didn't want to hike back to gallery after 9 o'clock at night. Opening her wallet, she pulled out the 10 dollar bill she kept stashed for emergencies, walked out to the front of the restaurant and hailed a taxi. _I guess I'll skip a few meals next week._ After the brief ride, she jumped out of the car, surprised at the hubbub of cabs, limos and expensive foreign cars in the normally quiet neighborhood. She pulled the invitation from her purse. _OK Alice,_ she said to herself as she paid the cab driver, _time to head through the looking glass._


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: A little name dropping amusement. All of the celebs Steve**_ **thinks** _ **he sees were part of the it-crowd of the time. I guess it's important to remind people that I'm not making any money off the use of these names. Far be it from me to suggest that any of the fine people mentioned would ever consider doing anything illegal. None of this ever happened, it's a figment of an over active imagination. I'm just having fun. Hope it brings back some memories. (Hope you're having fun, too.)**_

Steve pulled up to the gallery, slightly taken aback by the level of activity on the street. Along with cars, there were several photographers camped out across the road. Instead of trusting his baby to the valet he went around the corner and doubled back, parking in front of the deli he and Mike had visited earlier on Mason Street. After locking the car, he hoofed it to the front door of the gallery, careful to avoid the press.

A thirty something brunette wearing a tight black dress and holding a clip board was assigned as the gatekeeper to this evening's soirée. "Name?" she asked Steve eyeing him up suspiciously. Instead of responding, he produced the invitation. She scrutinized the document as if she was screening a passport at the airport.

"Where did you get this sir? This is a private function."

Half expecting an issue, Steve responded, "Anna gave it to me, Ted couldn't make it."

The woman stared at Steve, who turned on his warmest smile. She smiled back, "Oh, I guess it's ok, but have you seen her? She's been MIA since last Thursday. Boss is about ready to fire her ass, if you know what I mean."

That answered one question. Anna was found on Saturday, so she had been missing from work at least two days before then. Anna's and Ted's identity had yet to be released to the press, and having been to the morgue, he answered truthfully, "Yeah, I saw them this afternoon."

She waved him through, adding. "Well, if you talk to her, tell her she better check in but soon."

 _That's unlikely_. Steve thought as he smiled again, passed by the woman and entered the Gallery. "A" list didn't even begin to describe this scene.

A cloud of bluish grey smoke hung in the quasi lit gallery. Steve coughed a little as the combination of burning cigarettes and illegal inhalants entered his lungs. His eyes started to water from the toxic fog, so he slipped on his sunglasses and waded into the crowd. Shades at night generally were not a good idea, but half the crowd seemed to be so outfitted and he could see well enough, even though the room itself had very little ambient light. The walls were bathed in bright direct illumination, highlighting the photographs of the artist. Plus, with sunglasses darkening his eyes; he could directly observe people without alerting them to his scrutiny.

Had Steve been a few years younger and not technically there on duty, he more than likely would be acting like a star struck teenager. People were milling around looking at the photos, while the artist stood holding court at one of the several tall tables spread around the gallery. She was deep in discussion with a small oriental woman in black with round dark glasses and a taller woman with dark curls. _Was that really Yoko Ono and Grace Slick?_

Another couple was ambling hand in hand looking at the photographs, talking quietly. Unless he missed his guess, it was fellow Berkeley grad and current California Secretary of State Jerry Brown. His father had been a big wig in San Francisco. The woman could have been his constant companion and up and coming rock star in her own right, Linda Ronstadt. They stopped and spoke to another man in dark glasses, _Bob Dylan?_

There was a couch and chairs towards the back of the space. Steve was pretty sure that Hunter S. Thompson was passed out in one of the chairs. The brilliant inventor of "Gonzo" journalism and author of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" was a frequent contributor to Rolling Stone and a notorious over imbiber. There was a liberal amount of _something_ spread on the table in front of him and Steve was having a hard time turning off his cop impulses.

He thought that he recognizing Jerry Garcia and Bianca Jagger talking quietly with actor Ryan O'Neal. Steve knew from the bulletin traffic in the department that O'Neal was currently filming a movie in the city with Barbra Streisand. Jagger and O'Neal looked more than a little cozy, arm in arm holding glasses of red wine. For some reason, the whole event vaguely reminded him of a song that had gotten a lot of play on the radio recently called _Garden Party_ by Rick Nelson.

He noticed Todd Walters with an older gentleman in front of one of the divider walls and decided to sidle over under the pretense of looking at the photographs. Mike would probably say he was wasting his time eavesdropping on the art teacher, or was just prejudiced by the way Walters had treated him earlier. Walters certainly fit the profile that Lenny had come up with and knew at least one of the victims, possible two, as Kohler was an alumni of the Institute.

Steve concentrated on the displayed photos, which even to his untrained eye were brilliant, viewing them one by one until he was standing right behind Walters, straining to discern the conversation. He hoped to hell Walters wouldn't recognize him after a single meeting and completely out of context.

" _Don't you think I know that?" Walters was highly agitated._

" _Look, we had a deal, and if you don't follow through, well I don't think you want that information seeing the light of day, do you?"_

The older man had noticed Steve's approach and put an arm on Walters shoulder, attempting to pull him out of the inspector's range.

" _Maybe we should take this in the back, Todd."_

Walters chose that moment to turn around. He did a subtle double take at the sight of the Inspector.

" _Maybe you're right, Charles," Todd said in a low voice as the men walked toward an exit marked **employees only** and closed the door._

Steve was starting to feel a little buzzed and dizzy. He wasn't sure if it was from lack of food, the air borne intoxicants, or both. He looked around, relieved to find a small buffet set in a brightly lit ante-room. Knowing he had no chance of following up on the odd conversation between Walters and Campbell, he decided some food and caffeine were the next best things.

00000

Lizzy came up to the door and slipped the invitation out of the envelope. When she pulled it out, she noticed there was another smaller enveloped tucked inside the larger one. She dropped it back in her bag and handed the card to the woman at the door.

"Name?" the woman asked skeptically.

"Lizzy Grisko, I'm a guest of Pam Woodward."

"Oh," the woman looked down and seemed genuinely surprised to find Lizzy's name on the list. "Hey wait, didn't you apply for an internship here about 6 months ago?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Oh nothing, it's just, well, you might think about reapplying."

Lizzy was perplexed at the statement, but didn't follow up on it. "Hey, do you know if Pam has shown yet?"

The woman looked back on her list, "No, not while I've been out here, but it's early, this shindig will be going on for quite some time, I suspect. When she gets here, I will let her know you've already arrived."

Lizzy nodded her thanks as she opened the door. The party was in full swing. Pam had told her it was going to be a big-time event, but she couldn't believe her eyes when she looked around the room. It was like a rock and roll hall of fame. The people that caught her eye, however, were California artist Wayne Thiebaud in conversation with the new bad boy of the art world Jamie Wyeth.

Trying to get her courage up, she checked out the photographs and snagged a glass of chardonnay from a waitress, downing it in a few gulps. Between that and a few deep breaths of the gallery's intoxicating cloud, she was already starting to relax.

As much as she wanted to talk to the world renowned artists in attendance, she was starving. She saw a light in the small room off to the side and made a B-line for the buffet and the bar _. A little food and some additional liquid courage wouldn't hurt at this point of the evening._

There was a handsome man helping himself to cheese and crackers. She didn't recognize him as a celebrity, but when he gave her a heart melting smile, he might as well have been. That was until he fumbled what he was carrying and dumped most of the drink he held all over her. _This outfit is cursed._ She though as she grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to sop up the majority of the mess.

"Oh, man." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief. He slipped his sunglasses up to the top of his head and looked at her with gorgeous green eyes.

"It's ok, I got it." She took the handkerchief and tried to finish the job. "Well, at least it's dark out there."

"I'm sorry? Uh, what's your name?"

"Lizzy, Lizzy Grisko"

"Lizzy, I am so sorry. The um, _atmosphere_ in here has got me a little worse for the wear."

Lizzy laughed, she knew what he meant.

"Let me at least give you some cash for the dry cleaners. And I'm Steve." He turned and reached to grab more napkins.

Lizzy was just thinking that the night might turn out to be kind of interesting when Todd Walters entered the small room.

"Miss Grisko, fancy meeting you here. This is a little up market for a girl from the burbs isn't it? Where's your friend Pam? I'm sure she got you invited to this little do. I thought you were too much of a prude to swing with this crowd."

"You know what, Todd, it's bad enough I have to put up with your crap at school, but in public, no way man. Just leave me alone." She knew she would pay for her little outburst next Thursday in class, if he even remembered her comment, but she didn't care. She was really tired, hungry and felt a little reckless from the combination of wine and weed.

She turned back towards Steve. Todd put his hand on her arm. She tried to shake him off but he held fast. Steve turned around and stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Mr. Walters, take your hand off the lady please."

"You know what pig, that badge and gun you carry doesn't mean a hell of a lot with this crowd. You can't harass people like me, especially here."

"Be that as it may, you still need to respect the lady's wishes, GET YOU HANDS OFF HER." A few people looked up from main room and peered at the building confrontation in front of the buffet.

Todd dropped Lizzy's arm and put his finger to Steve's chest, backing him up to the wall.

"You are WAY out of your league, Mister _Police man_. One word and I'll have you put out like that." Todd pulled his hand back and snapped his fingers in Steve's face for emphasis.

Lizzy's eyes grew wide, "cop?" she mouthed. Steve shook his head in the affirmative.

As much as he wanted to grab this jerk's arm, swing it behind his back and push his face into the wall he knew he couldn't. Walters was right, with the quantity of illegal substances present and his own diminished capacity, he knew better than to cause a scene. He would hate to have to call Mike to bail him out if this party got busted. As much as the arrogant SOB annoyed him, he stepped aside.

"Peace, man. I was on my way out, Lizzy, can I see you home?"

She really didn't want to leave, but Todd had managed to take the shine off of what could have been an incredible evening. "Sure, whatever."

Steve held the door for Lizzy and they both took deep breaths of the bracing November air as they exited. The black clad hostess gave Lizzy a subtle thumbs up.

"Can I give you a lift somewhere? I feel like it's the least I can do." Steve wasn't sure if it was a bright idea for him to drive just yet. Between the contact high and the adrenaline dump after his confrontation with Todd, his hands were visibly shaking. He made the offer anyway.

"I actually live just up the block. I share an apartment with my roommate Pam above the deli on Mason."

"I'm parked over there. Walk you home?"

"Sure. Are you really a cop?"

"Guilty as charged. Is that guy always such an ass?"

"You don't know the half of it. He is my drawing teacher at the Institute."

They walked silently along the block to the corner of Chestnut and Mason. Light was spilling out of the door of the deli. Steve looked at his watch, it was nearly 11 and he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"How late are they open?"

"Till midnight on Friday and Saturday. A lot of students live in the neighborhood."

"You hungry?"

"Starved."

They entered the store. Lizzy cringed as she saw Vince at the counter.

"Another one of your friends, like Todd?"

She laughed at the comment. "No, perverted son of my Nonna, no wait, um, my landlord, um Mrs. Molinaro." She felt confused. "It's Vince Molinaro, his mother owns this place. They live next door. He works at the college. He's a creep." For some reason Lizzy couldn't get her words to come out in the right order, but they continued to spill out anyhow. "Geez, I must be totally wasted. What the hell were they smoking back there?"

Steve sniffed his clothes now that they were a block gone from the gallery and wrinkled his nose. His clothes and hair reeked of pot. He'd have to get this stuff in the wash asap. "I don't know, but I better not get pulled over on the way home or I'll wind up in the tank," Steve said laughing.

Lizzy liked his laugh. Actually she liked a lot about him and didn't know if it was his smile or the grass, but she could totally go for a guy like him. She shook her head to clear it as the voice of the robot from "Lost in Space" was screaming _Danger Will Robinson_ in her brain _._ She mentally told the robot to shut up. _Oh god, I am so stoned._

They ordered a couple of sandwiches and grabbed two sodas from the cold case. Steve made to sit at the counter, but Lizzy waved him off. She wanted to be as far away from Vince as possible in the tight space. They sat down at the single small table in the corner.

"So tell me about Lizzy Grisko." Steve drained his coke. What he really needed at this point was about 6 cups of coffee.

"Girl from the burbs, as Todd said, Hillsborough. Illustration major at the Institute up the block. Waitress at Fisherman's Wharf. That about sums me up."

"What about you Steve?

"Keller, Steve Keller." He was about to continue when Vince dumped the sandwiches unceremoniously on the table and gave Steve a dark look. After Vince left, Steve gave her an equally short version of his life story. "Berkeley grad, law school drop-out, SFPD Homicide Inspector."

"How did you wind up at that scene down the block?"

"I'm investigating a murder." She raised an eyebrow.

They were both quiet while they devoured their sandwiches. Steve got up and bought two more cokes. Vince was still giving him the evil eye.

Steve's head started to clear as he downed the second soda. "Lizzy, tell me, do you have drawing on Thursdays with Walters." His semi-functional brain was now putting crazy ideas together with Lizzy at the center. The school, the gallery, the Wharf. He needed more information.

Lizzy stared wide eyed, "How the hell did you know that?"

"I'm a detective." Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Did you see Ted Brooks on Thursday?"

Lizzy choked on her coke, spit some out and spilled the dregs of the bottle onto Steve's jacket. "I'm sorry," she said as she furiously tried to mop it off with napkins, while giggling.

"I guess we are even," Steve laughed, blotting up the last of the coke.

After regaining her faculties, Lizzy explained, "You could say I saw _all of him_. He's a nude model, you dig?" She giggled again. Steve blushed. Lizzy found it charming.

The door chimed as a young man walked in. Vince reluctantly turned his attention from Lizzy and Steve to the new customer. Lizzy turned her head and saw Jeff buying Fritos and a Mountain Dew. She waved at him. He nodded and walked over to the table.

"Hey Jeff, you're out late. Jeff this is Steve, Steve, Jeff Powers."

"Yeah, I'm trying to finish up some stuff so I can leave town over the weekend. I'm supposed to go skiing."

Vince walked over. "I hate to break this up, but it's closing time, so get out."

Steve looked at Lizzy, "A real charmer," he said in a whisper. She giggled again and touched his hand. Steve looked back at her brown eyes. He thought she was cute in a kind of off-beat way, _but really, really young._ He heard Mikes voice in head.

Jeff bid Lizzy goodbye and he headed out the door. Steve really needed to continue his conversation with Lizzy but with the way she was looking at him, he thought going up to her apartment was an extraordinarily bad idea. _Mike would be so proud._

He walked her up the stairs. Digging in his pocket, he came up with two cards and a pen. He handed her one. "Well it's been an interesting evening all the way around." He cleared his throat as he was trying to figure out a way to ask for her number without leading her on. "I'd like to talk to you about Thursday's class. Can you give me your number so I can call you?"

She fingered the card, shoved it in her bag and frowned. Lizzy looked disappointed and Steve felt bad as he handed her the pen and the second card.

"Whatever." She wrote down the number and handed it back. "It's been real, Keller," Lizzy said as she unlocked the door and shut it with a little too much force in his face.

Steve walked down the steps. The store was now dark. As he went over and unlocked the Porsche, it felt like someone was watching him. He looked around and saw nothing. _Pot makes you paranoid._ He started the car and drove to Union Street.

After parking, he climbed the steps and took off his jacket, leaving it on the railing to air. It would have to go to the dry cleaners, but the night air would take care of the lingering illegal odor. He went into his apartment, stripped and took a long shower to wash the remnants of the party out of his hair, donning shorts and a t-shirt when he was done. Now that he was clean, the clothes on the floor reeked like a rock concert. Grabbing them and the rest of the clothes in the hamper, Steve ran down to the washer before collapsing into bed.

It felt like no time had passed when he was startled awake by the telephone. He looked at the clock. No time had passed, it wasn't even three AM.

"What?"

"And good morning to you Inspector."

"Come on Mike, it's the middle of the night."

"Up and at 'em sleepyhead, we have another body."


	7. Chapter 7

The news of another victim woke Steve up in a hurry.

"I'll be there in 15 minutes." Steve got out of bed and splashed water on his ashen face. He looked at his blood shot eyes and growing stubble and turned away in disgust. He threw on jeans, buttoned a flannel shirt over the tee he was wearing and walked out the bedroom door. Grabbing the keys to the LTD, his gun, cuffs and wallet, he ran his fingers through his hair. That was as good as it got 3 am.

Steve pulled the car to the curb and mounted the stair to Mike's front door, unwilling to wake the entire neighborhood with a car horn. Mike was waiting for him, fully dresses, with a cup of coffee extended as he opened the door. While Mike didn't look exactly fresh, he looked far better than the train wreck appearance Steve was sporting.

"You, my friend, are a saint." Steve took the mug out of Mike's hand.

"You, my friend, look like five miles of bad road. What the hell were you doing last night after you left the office?"

"Working, remember. I went to that gallery opening last night." He wisely kept the real cause of the red rimmed eyes to himself.

"Was it worth it?"

"I think so." He drained the cup and handed the mug back to Mike. "I'll tell you on the way. Where is this one?"

"Nob Hill."

"Great." Steve intoned. Nob Hill meant money and tourists. Money and tourist meant added pressure from city hall. Although after four victims, he didn't think the pressure could get any higher.

Mike held out his hand for the car keys. Steve dropped them in his palm and slunk over to the passenger side of the car, sliding in and slamming the door.

Mike pulled away from the curb, "So, what'd you find out?"

Steve saw Lizzy's disappointed face in his head as he related the events from earlier in the evening, the thought of having to interview her at Bryant Street weighing uncomfortably on his mind.

"So what's your take away?" Mike asked after Steve finished.

"Two things. I think we need to figure out what Walters and Campbell were talking about and we need to follow up with Grisko. I don't know why, but my instincts are telling me this involves her somehow."

Mike pulled the car into Huntington Park, past a black and white that was controlling access on the Sacramento Street side. They paused briefly, verifying with the patrolman that the other entrances were also secured, and drove up the broad path to The Fountain of the Turtles. Installed in 1955, it was a copy of a fountain in Rome. The focal point of the park provided the setting for the latest victim. As Mike and Steve got out of the car and approached the scene, the bells from Grace Cathedral across the street tolled 4 am.

A beautiful blond woman was posed naked, standing in one of the shell-shaped basins of the fountain. Her hair rippled gently in the breeze caused by the agitated water. "Even I recognized this one," Mike said quietly. "Birth of Venus."

Steve stared sadly at the murderous tableau. "Yeah, me too, Botticelli I think."

With the church and school across the street and the Fairmont Hotel one block over, Mike knew the scene had to be cleared quickly and quietly. He looked around to make sure he didn't see anyone from the press underfoot and spotted Bernie, who was slipping on a pair of Wellies.

"Before, you ask, I don't know anything." Bernie grunted as he pulled on his second boot. "As soon as we get public works to turn off the water, I'll go up and take a look. Photographer's already done and the lab boys are almost finished."

"Do you know who called it in?"

"You'll have to talk to the uniforms." The plaza went suddenly quiet as the water jets ceased their incessant pulsing. "That's my cue." With the help of a small step ladder, Bernie climbed into the fountain.

Mike turned and saw Steve staring blankly at the body. He was quick to rouse the tired young man from his apparent trance.

"You ok buddy boy?"

"Huh?" Steve turned a pale face towards Mike. "Did you say something?"

"Yeah, see if you can find out who called it in."

Steve turned his back on the fountain and took out his notebook, approaching one of the uniformed officers on the scene. He was copying down information when he heard Bernie swear and turned his attention to the quirky medical examiner.

"Shit. We got a problem Mike."

"What?" Mike asked with concern in his voice. He had never heard Bernie swear in all the years they had worked together.

"No gunshot wound. Her neck is broken and the lividity is all wrong. She probably was killed at least couple of hours before she was um, displayed."

"Copycat?" Steve thought the word as Mike said it aloud and swore under his breath. The detail of the gunshot wounds hadn't been in the papers. This inconsistency in the manner of death might be incredibly bad news. Now they could have two killers.

Bernie looked at Mike and Steve's stricken faces. "I'm not saying anything just yet. I won't know much of anything until I get her on the table."

Steve walked back over to Mike. "The body was found by a couple out for a late night, or I guess more accurately, early morning stroll. They're spending their honeymoon at the Fairmont." He motioned to one of the patrol cars, pointing to a couple huddled in the back seat. "You want me to talk to them?"

"No, you stay here, we don't want to give them a bad impression of SFPD."

"That bad?"

"I've seen corpses that looked more alive than you do right now, hotshot. You stay here with Bernie."

Mike walked over to the cruiser and opened the back door. "Mr and Mrs. Delmar, I'm so sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances." Mike pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to the young blonde who was resting her head on her new husbands shoulder, quietly weeping.

The husband spoke up. "What the hell is happening in this city? We came here to celebrate. Now this is what we'll have to remember from our honeymoon."

"Again, I'm terribly sorry, but I need to ask you a few questions. Trust me, we are working very hard to catch whoever did this. Please, can you tell me what happened?"

Mr. Delmar squeezed his wife's hand reassuringly and began, "Well, we left the hotel to get a little air and see if we could get something to eat, room service stopped at midnight."

"A walk at 3 am?"

The young man smiled coyly and his wife blushed. "Our honeymoon, Sir."

Mike shook his head, "um right, continue."

"We found a coffee shop and got a bite and decided to cut through the park on the way back to the hotel. When we got to the fountain, well there she was."

"It was horrible," Mrs. Delmar chimed in, "I'm the same age as that poor girl." She closed her eyes.

"Did you see anybody around?"

"No, it was very quiet." Mr. Delmar continued. "We walked back to the hotel and called the police from the lobby. The patrolman ask us to come back with him when he got to the hotel, and here we are. How much longer, uh…"

"Stone, Lieutenant Stone."

"We really would like to get back to the hotel, Lieutenant."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No, that's it."

Mrs. Delmar suddenly opened her eyes and stared at her husband. "NO, WAIT, that's not all. Doug, tell him about the van."

"Oh right. Gosh I'm so messed up, I forgot all about that. When we saw the body we were both really shook up. We were kind of jogging back down the path and this blue VW bus just about ran us over when we were crossing the street."

Now Mike was interested. "You didn't happen to get a look at the back of it, did you, maybe get the plate?"

"No, we were just trying to get out of the way, but I'm pretty sure it was a California plate. Oh, and there were a bunch of bumper stickers on the back."

 _Maybe it wasn't a copycat after all._ Mike could only hope that was the case.

Mike handed Mr. Delmar his card and instructed the patrolman to return them to their hotel. "We will need you to come down to Bryant Street and make a formal statement, but that can wait. Thank you so much for your help, folks. Again I'm sorry this happened. If you remember anything else, and I mean anything, please give me a call."

"Honestly, Lieutenant Stone, we just want to go back to the hotel and forget this ever happened."

He shut the door and the car pulled out in the direction of the Fairmont.

Mike walked back over to the fountain and noticed Bernie putting plastic bags over the victim's hands. He called up to Bernie. "What have you got?"

"She's got something on her hands, it actually looks like it's been there a while. I can't tell in this light, but I'll venture to say it's either paint or ink. It's under her nails and ground right into her fingerprints."

Steve looked at Mike. He had a very bad feeling about this, thinking about Lizzy and her roommate, Pam. "Another art student?"

"Looks like." Bernie called down from the fountain. "She's the right age. I'm done up here, but I'm gonna need some help getting her down once I cut the ropes and release her. Bring a sheet with you when you come up. We'll bag her when we get her to the ground."

Steve looked at Mike and shrugged his shoulders. He slipped off his boots and socks, turning up the hem of his jeans a few times. Grabbing a sheet out of Bernie's kit, he climbed up the stepladder and stepped into the basin. The young inspector was now completely awake. The water was ice cold.

Steve looked dejectedly into the cloudy blue eyes of the once beautiful young woman, quickly turned his head and shivered. "Let's get this done, my feet are freezing."

It was another hour before they managed to get the latest victim out of the fountain and into the van. Sunrise was still over an hour away when Bernie drove off with the body. Steve was sitting on the sidewalk, teeth chattering. The overnight temperature of about 45° F wasn't terribly cold, but after standing in the fountain for a protracted period, he couldn't get warm. He rolled down his pants legs and put his boots back on.

Mike offered his hand and pulled the young man up to a standing position. "I think we're done here. Let's get you some coffee and breakfast and then we'll see where we stand."

"I'm up for that, as long as it's not chili."

"You sure? I'll warm you right up. You know when I walked a beat…"

Steve put his palm on Mike's chest. "I know Mike."

"I've told you that one before, huh?"

"Just a few times." Steve smiled and reached into Mike's raincoat pocket, grabbing the car keys before he could react. "I know a place." Steve and Mike were just pulling out when they spied Joe Randolph exiting his car.

"How the hell does he keep finding out so fast?"

"Think of it this way Mike," Steve said, still shivering, as he turned the corner. "At least we got her, and us, out of the park before he turned up."

00000

Mrs. Molinaro was just unlocking the front door when Steve pulled the LTD up to the curb.

"You boys are up early on a Saturday. What you need?"

"Coffee." Steve stammered through chattering teeth, He had yet to ditch the bone chilling cold of the fountain. "And whatever breakfast will warm me up the fastest."

"Cold, Yes?"

"Very, cold?"

"I got just what you need, _giovanotto._ Warm you _rapido."_

They sat at the counter as she poured them two cups of coffee. Mrs. Molinaro then dissapeared through a door behind the counter. Mike and Steve savored the coffee in silence. When she returned from the back after several minutes, she bore a steaming skillet and a loaf of crusty bread. She dropped the skillet on the counter and grabbed two plates.

" _Uova al Purgatorio."_ She thought a minute and reapeated in English, "Eggs in Purgatory. Best breakfast to warm you up. You eat now."

In the skillet were four poached eggs, swimming in a sea of fiery pepper-laden Marinara sauce. Mrs. Molinaro broke the bread with her hands a put some on each plate, then spooned eggs and sauce on as well. She looked at Steve's blood shot eyes, "Not only warms, cures..." she had to pause and think again, "How you say? Uh, hangovers? My Mona Lisa and Venus love this. Eat before it gets cold."

Steve stared at Mike at the mention of Venus. Mike finally noticed the blood shoot eyes. Mike looked smugly at Steve, who was now eyeing the eggs skeptically. "And you thought chili was a bad idea. You heard the woman, eat up, buddy boy."


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: A special thanks to meixel, Sylvia Elaine, RealLifeJoanWilder and EKWTSM9 for their loyal support and encouraging reviews. Without your feedback I would have euthanized this story weeks ago._**

Lizzy woke up with a start just before 7 am. She hadn't even bothered to shower when she came home last night and now regretted it. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, craving a few more hours of sleep, but _eau du opening_ transferred from her hair, assaulted her nose. Its not so subtle overtones of tobacco and pot nearly gagged her. She sat up and tossed her pillow off the bed in anger. _So much for sleeping in._

After a lengthy shower, she threw on a sweater and jeans, finally feeling human. She stripped the offending case off her pillow, tossed it in the overflowing hamper and went to the kitchen in search of caffeine. The cupboards were bare. Shopping. Another thing to do today.

Returning to the bathroom, she wet braided her hair and brushed her teeth. Looking in the mirror at her pale face and bloodshot eyes, she felt kind of cheated. _I should have had a lot more fun last night to look this lousy._ She sighed. _Too bad about that handsome cop, might have been a wild night._

With the door locked and laundry bag in hand, Lizzy descended the stairs. Since she was already awake, a quick trip to the laundromat and the market were in order. Dropping the bag at the bottom of the steps, she entered the deli in search of a cup of coffee.

Two men were at the counter finishing breakfast.

"Morning, Nonna. Coffee?"

" _Buon giorno_ , sleepyhead!"

Mrs. Molinaro pulled a mug from the shelf and poured a cup of coffee. Lizzy dropped down at the counter next to the man in the flannel shirt. She finally looked at him as he passed the sugar.

"You have got to be kidding, me. What the hell are you doing here?" It came out a little more strident than she intended. Evidently she was a little more upset at the way last night ended than she thought.

Mrs. Molinaro clucked at Lizzy, " _Chiudi la loro bocca*_ , Lizzy!"

"Scusa, Nonna"

Mike observed the reaction of the young woman to Steve and looked at him with raised brows. He also noted that her eyes were in similar condition to Steve's this morning. Later he would follow up on that observation.

"Mike, I'd like you to meet Miss Lizzy Grisko. Miss Grisko, this is Lieutenant Mike Stone."

After Mike extended his hand to the young woman, Steve continued. "Ms. Grisko is a student at the Institute and was in Todd Walters' class on Thursday where Ted Brooks was modeling. She also works down on the Wharf." He began to ask her a question when Lizzy put up her hand.

"Before you start, let me at least finish my coffee."

Mrs. Molinaro refilled Mike and Steve's cups, picked up the dirty dishes and exited through the door behind the counter. Lizzy poured an ample amount of sugar into her mug and took a long draught before looking back at Steve.

The doors chimed and the three counter occupants turned toward the opening. Vince entered the store carrying several crates. He openly leered at Lizzy and shot an angry look at Steve. Once again Mike raised an eyebrow. _Just what were you up to last night, buddy buy?_

Vince carried the cartons in the back. Lizzy had a few more sips of coffee and Steve began his question once again.

"Can you tell us what happened at the end of class on Thursday?"

Lizzy thought back. "Not anything special that I remember. We finished a little early. Todd had to wake Ted up, again. He has a real bad habit of falling asleep when he models, particularly when he is, ah, under the influence." She gave Steve a half smile. He flinched. "Why all the questions about Ted?"

Steve looked at Mike, silently asking how much he should reveal. Mike nodded his head. "He's dead. We found his body Friday morning at the Palace of Fine Arts."

Lizzy's eye grew wide at the revelation. "Oh my God, the Da Vinci Killer, that was Ted? That's the second person I know who was killed. What the hell is going on, Steve?"

"That's what we're working on. Hold on, you knew Gary Kohler?" Surprised, Steve asked the question before Mike had a chance.

"Well yeah, he was at the Institute my first year. Nice enough, he never looked down on me the way most of the painting majors did. We went out a few times, you know, just as friends. When he couldn't get a job, he started selling paintings to the tourists down at Fisherman's Wharf. I'd talk to him before work every now and then. Sometimes, we'd get a drink afterwards. He was a nice guy."

Mike jumped into the conversation. "How about Ted? How well did you know him?"

"Not too well, he hit on me a couple of times, but usually when he was zonked out of his mind. He had a live in girlfriend."

"Do you know her?" Steve asked.

"I met her once or twice when she picked him up, seemed nice. She beat me out of an internship over at the Campbell Gallery." Mike looked at Steve as if the pieces were falling together in his brain. Lizzy continued. "Wait a minute, that's why you were at the opening last night. The girl in the park, _Ophelia._ Was that her?" Lizzy pushed her coffee cup away, caffeine no longer necessary. She was wide awake. "I knew all three of them."

Steve got up from the counter and walked behind it to the sink, getting the young woman a glass of water. Mike slid over, took the glass from Steve and placed it into Lizzy's hand. She took a sip.

Vince came through the door behind the counter, grabbed Steve's shoulder and pushed him against the wall, with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. Several framed pictures crashed to the floor.

"Who the hell do you think you are, man? You don't belong back here. Go, or I'll call the cops."

Steve attempted to pull out his ID, twisting under Vince's hand. "We are the cops. I suggest you take your hands off me."

Vince held firm as Mrs. Molinaro rushed through the door, screaming in rapid Italian. Steve continued to struggle under Vince's grip. Lizzy started shouting at Vince, which only increased his mother's volume. Suddenly, the cacophony was pierced by a shrill whistle.

Once he had everyone's attention, Mike held out his ID to Mrs. Molinaro. "Vince I suggest you release Inspector Keller, he was just getting Miss Grisko a glass of water, she's had a bit of a shock." He turned to the older woman, "Scusa, Signora Molinaro, we didn't mean to cause a disturbance."

Steve shook off Vince, who crossed his arms and scowled. Mrs. Molinaro bent down to retrieve the pictures, but Steve beat her to it. Straightening up, he blanched when he looked at the image in the frame on top of the stack. Mike noticed the change in Steve's demeanor as Mrs. Molinaro took the photo from his hand and rehung it on the wall. Mike glanced at the picture and swallowed hard.

"Mrs. Molinaro, who is this in the picture?" Steve stared at the image.

"Handsome boy like you, of course you like my beautiful girls. This one is my Lizzy, you know her yes?"

Steve nodded his head. He anticipated the identity of the other girl as his breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.

"Lizzy is my Mona Lisa." Mrs. Molinaro looked at Lizzy and smiled. She then pointed to the beautiful blonde in the photo, "And this is my Pam, my Venus."

Once Mike got Steve's attention, he held him silent him with his eyes. Lizzy was gazing quizzically at Steve, trying to understand his strong reaction to the picture. Something was definitely off. Mike tried to hand her a card, but she demurred. "I already have his. What's up?"

Mike put the card back in his pocket. He again apologized to Mrs. Molinaro. "Sorry for the problem ma'am." He left payment for breakfast on the counter with a generous tip and turned back to Lizzy. "We need to get back to the station, but if it's not too much trouble Ms. Grisko, can we have you come in later so we can continue our conversation?"

00000

Mike and Steve drove back to Bryant Street in silence. They had stopped by the Campbell Gallery, which was locked up tight at 8 am on a Saturday Morning. After entering the bull pen, Steve grabbed two cups of coffee and followed Mike into his office. Mike called Bernie with the possible identity of the latest victim. He followed up with a brief call to Lenny. Steve sat with his eyes closed and head leaning back on the wall.

"Why didn't you tell her Mike?"

"You know the answer to that, buddy boy."

He did. After IDing the body, protocol dictated that next of kin be notified first.

"Yeah I guess I do, but what do you think is really going on here. All four victims are connected to her."

"That's why I called Lenny. He said he couldn't finish his profile until we connected the dots."

"And now we have, and they lead right to Lizzy Grisko."

The phone rang. Mike picked it up and listened intently, finally hanging up after several minutes.

"Who?"

"Charlie. He has something for us. We can stop by and see him of the way to the morgue."

Steve cringed at the thought of his second visit to the morgue in as many days. The image of the cold, dead Venus in the fountain weighing heavy on his mind and his stomach.

As Steve and Mike walked toward the door, Lenny entered.

"Thanks for getting down here so fast, we're on our way to the lab, walk with us." Mike proceeded to lay out the connection between the victims as they walked. Lenny listened until they paused outside the lab door.

"Sounds like somebody is fixated on our art student. Maybe clearing the way for the two of them to be together. You said that she and Kohler dated casually, and Ted asked her out. Then, Kearns beats her out of a job." He paused, considering the next link in the chain. "We'll have to find out more about her relationship with the roommate, if they had issues, well, I think you can see where I'm going with this. What I told you yesterday still holds. Whoever is doing this is definitely a narcissist and is obsessed with Grisko. He is eliminating obstacle to their perceived relationship and presenting his "works of art" as gifts to her, proving how superior he is to everyone."

"Do you think she's in danger?"

"Right now, no. If she spurns him when he finally reveals himself, that's a different story."

Steve had been very quiet during the entire trip to the lab and Mike noticed.

"What are you thinking Steve?"

"I know you think I have something against the art teacher, but it fits. He got kind of rough with her last night after she blew him off, and I'm pretty sure if you looked up narcissist in the dictionary, Todd Walters' picture would be there. There was also the conversation between Campbell and Walters last night. He's definitely trying to hide something."

Mike directed his response to Lenny. "True, but if she's already turned him down, would he still be pursuing her?"

"Maybe. His ego might not let him even consider the fact she wasn't interested in him. Maybe he's after her because she poses a challenge."

Mike opened the door to the lab and stood in the opening. ''I don't know. I think it might be a little too neat. What about Vince?"

Steve turned a startled face towards his partner. "Why would you think that?"

"I saw his reaction to her _and you_ this morning, I think I need to hear a little more about what happened last night."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I also saw how his mother dotes on those two girls. She even called Pam her "Venus." Lenny, could jealousy for a mother's attention be part of this equation?"

"Perhaps. More likely he's trying to please his mother. Winning a girl his mother already considers family."

00000

Lizzy loaded her laundry into the washer and dumped in a measure of soap. She hated wasting time in the laundromat, but it had to be done. She picked up a newspaper and paged distractedly through the sections. _What the hell was happening?_ She could not shake the look on Keller's face when he saw the picture of her and Pam with Mrs. Molinaro.

She dug into her pocket, searching for a dime for the payphone. It was only going on nine, but she hoped Pam had turned up at the apartment by now. She got more and more concerned as the phone rang without answer. She slammed down the handset and retrieved her dime when it tinkled into the slot. As she went to drop it into her wallet, the envelope that Pam had included in the gallery invitation caught her attention.

*Watch your (Mouth) language


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter after my shameless pandering for feedback. It is really hard for me to write in a vacuum. I don't know how real authors do it. I guess that's why I'm an amateur.**_

Charlie was bent over a microscope when Mike and Steve entered the lab. It took several moments of waiting and Mike clearing his throat before he looked up at his visitors.

"Oh, Mike, Steve, I didn't hear you come in." Steve resisted the urge to laugh. To say the scientist was focused would have been an understatement.

"What have you got for us?"

"Bernie sent up the cloth from our St. Sebastian. We tested it and it is definitely linseed oil."

Steve looked at Mike with an _I told you so_ smirk. The presence of the artist material led them straight back to the Institute and Todd Walters. Mike ignored him and pressed on. "Do we have trace from the other bodies?"

"Well, you'll have to ask Bernie about number one, but yeah, when we rechecked Ophelia's Dress there were definite traces of linseed oil."

"Anything else?"

"Geez, Mike, isn't that enough for a Saturday morning?" Charlie asked incredulously.

Steve and Mike left the crime lab in the direction of the morgue. "So, what do you think about Walters now?" Steve was feeling a little bit more confident with his suspicions.

"I don't know, it just doesn't feel right. If he's so full of himself and sleeping with all those girls, why would he fixate on Grisko? Doesn't make sense. It's not like she's a great beauty or even particularly interesting, she just seems like another girl."

Steve agreed with Mike to a point, although she had seemed reasonably appealing last night. "I know, it's been bothering me a little. But if he's a nut job, like Lenny said, we may never know why. Obsession usually doesn't have a rhyme or reason, it's just that, an obsession."

"Well, before you convict the guy, I have a question. Didn't you say Vince works part time at the school as a janitor?"

"Yeah, your point?"

"It's possible he could have come in contact with the oil as part of his job, isn't it hot shot."

Steve considered it as they entered the morgue. Bernie had Pam on the table and was busy making a y-incision when they came through the door. Once again, Steve hung back. Despite the fact he dealt with death on a daily basis, he was never very comfortable getting up close and personal with a victim when they were suffering their final indignity.

"Mike, come on, we just got her out of the fountain…" Bernie looked at his watch, "a few hours ago. What do you want, miracles?"

"No, I want to stop a killer. You got anything?" Mike asked.

"Not much more than I had on site. No gunshot wound, her neck was definitely broken. Looks like it could have happened in a fall. She has a lot of other bruising, maybe consistent with a tumble down the steps."

"Accidental?"

"There's really no way to tell. But like I suspected, she laid on her back for some time after she died, a couple of hours at least." Bernie repositioned the body revealing the young woman's back. "You see the mottling here, that's where the blood pooled after she died, before she was placed in the fountain. She was positioned before rigor set in. Probably puts time of death around midnight or so."

"I'll take your word for it." Steve couldn't look at her. The chill from his trip into the fountain made a return visit as the memory of her cold, dead eye slipped into his mind.

"Any trace on this one? We've already talk to Charlie about two and three." Mike was standing shoulder to shoulder with Bernie, peering at the body.

"We did find the same oily substance in her hair. It's consistent with the other two, I haven't had a chance to recheck Kohler yet."

"Do you think it's the same killer?" Mike asked.

"Right now it would just be a guess, but it could be. The presentation and trace is consistent with the others. Who knows, maybe she tried to struggle and took a fatal fall before our perp could finish the job. Plus, didn't your witnesses put the suspect vehicle in the vicinity of the park this morning?"

"Yeah. But we still don't have a line on it. How about a positive ID?"

"We have no prints in the system for Pam Woodward. We did locate next of kin. Talked to a housekeeper, but the parents are on Safari in Kenya. Must be nice. You said there was a roommate. Can she make the id for us?"

Steve looked at Mike. The thought of Lizzy having to ID the body made him shudder. "Is there any other way?" _No one should have to do that, ever._

"Unless you can get me dentals on her, and I doubt you can with the parents in the bush, so to speak, no. It's the only way."

"But we saw the picture, isn't that good enough?" Steve's voice was strained. He felt like he needed to protect the young woman from something that would give her nightmares for the rest of her life _, like he had._

"I'd feel more comfortable if it was the roommate." Bernie seemed adamant on the point.

Mike headed for the door. "She'll be in this afternoon. Will you be done by then?"

Bernie looked at Steve, who was obviously upset by the turn of events. "I can be. And I'm sorry Steve, I really am, but it's got to be done."

Mike knew Steve was troubled by the thought of Lizzy identifying the body of her roommate. Hell, it bothered him as well, thinking about how Jeannie had reacted when her girlfriend was killed*. They walked back to the bull pen in silence. To Mike's chagrin, Captain Olsen was seated in his office. Mike looked at Steve and let out a heavy, troubled breath. The captain in his office was never a good sign. "It's all yours, _Lieutenant."_ Steve said as sat down at his own desk. "That's why you get the big bucks." He smiled at Mike, but the smile didn't color his voice, or lighten his mood.

Mike entered his office and closed the door. Steve picked up a voluminous printout that sat on his desk. It was from DMV and listed all the Blue VW Buses registered in Northern California. _I guess I know what I am doing this afternoon_. He got up, filled a coffee cup, opened up the fanfold and picked up the phone.

00000

Lizzy pulled the small envelope from her bag. She tore off the flap and dropped a numbered gold key into her left hand. It was the same type of key she had on her own key ring, used to open one of the deep storage lockers where students secured their work at the institute. She was a little puzzled. Pam had never, to her knowledge, used the locker issued to her. Most of her work was too large to even fit in the limited space. She couldn't figure out why Pam would give it to her, unless she wanted her to pick something up. Lizzy didn't even know where the locker was in the building.

She turned the key over and over in her hands, trying to quell the feeling of dread that had been building since her encounter with Steve at the deli. The look in his eyes when he saw the photo of Pam meant something, but the two officers had left in an unexplained rush. She needed to find out what was going on.

The insistent buzzer on the dryer garnered her attention and banished the thought from her head. She shoved the key in her pocket, unloaded the dryer and folded the clothes. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she left the cloying warmth of the laundromat. The wind slapped her face, momentarily clearing the cloud of fear from her thoughts. The bright morning sunshine helped finish the job. She walked back to her apartment and dropped the bag before heading to the market. Pam had not returned, but that was not unusual for a Saturday morning.

She left a note on the counter and checked her wallet for cash, paring down her list to fit the available resources, and departed for the market. As she came down the steps, she carefully looked around to make sure Vince wasn't underfoot. After the mess with the cops earlier, he was sure to be in a foul mood, and she didn't feel like dealing with him. Luckily, he was nowhere in sight.

Lizzy walked to the store, feeling a little spooked. She repeatedly turned, having the distinct impression of being followed or observed, but every time she looked around, no one was there. _Maybe I'm just paranoid or way too tired._ Thinking about the recent rash of hang up phone calls, she made a mental note to mention it when she met with the cops after lunch.

Cops. She didn't really want to talk to them and seriously considered blowing off the whole thing. It had to be just a coincidence that she knew the three people who were dead. What else could it be? She bundled all her anxiety and tucked it away in the back of her mind for the moment.

The clerk looked up when she entered the small grocery and smiled. Lizzy gave a tired smile in return and decide that after her chores were finished, Pam should be back at the apartment. She would ask her about the key and they would have a laugh about the opening and the scene in the deli with Vince, Nonna and the cops. The rest of the afternoon, before she had to go to work, could be spent doing what she really wanted to do, taking a nap.

00000

After two cups of coffee and an hour plus pouring over the DMV list eliminating possibilities and making phone calls, Steve tossed it off to the side and closed his eyes. Mikes was still sequestered with Rudy in his office and by the volume of the conversation, he was sure Mike would be impossible to deal with this afternoon. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, the three am wakeup call finally catching up with him. A splash of cold water in the washroom did little to improve his concentration, so instead of heading back to his desk he took the stairs and exited the building, hoping a walk in the brisk November air would revive his flagging energy reserve.

As he walked, he tried to figure out a way to eliminate the need for Lizzy to identify the body of her roommate. She seemed like a nice enough young lady despite her reaction to him this morning. He would get the home number from Bernie and see if he could talk to the housekeeper, maybe the dentist's phone number was around somewhere or perhaps there were good enough photographs at the house Bernie could use instead. It was worth the extra effort to save Lizzy from something so, he thought _horrible_ , but there had to be a stronger word to describe an experience in the morgue. His sleep-deprived brain couldn't find it at the moment.

The nagging why question entered his mind. Why her? Why would somebody be obsessed with her, she was so normal. Like Mike had said, Walters was a real high flier. What could it possibly be about Lizzy that would make him kill for her? Lenny said it could be because she turned him down, but it seemed like a stretch. As much as he wanted the arrogant SOB to be guilty of something other than being a world class jerk, it didn't really make sense.

He had to admit, although he wouldn't say so to Mike, Vince was a stronger possibility. Still living with mamma, big ego working a nowhere job, but he didn't really seem sophisticated enough to pull off such an elaborate scheme. They would have to check out both of them and eventually bring them in for a _chat._ A nagging voice in his head posed a troubling question. _What if they were missing something and someone else was out there?_ It made wince. They had to catch this guy before he had a chance to kill again.

Steve looked at his watch and realized an hour had passed. He turned and sprinted back to Bryant Street. If Mike was aggravated before he left, he would be an order of magnitude worse after Steve had been MIA for over an hour.

Mike was at his desk when Steve slunk into the office. He had picked up a couple of hot dogs on the corner as a peace offering, but by the look on Mike's face, that wasn't even going to begin to soothe his irate partner.

"Where the hell have you been for an hour?" Mike was annoyed, but not at Steve. He knew he was just as tired as he was, but he couldn't resist taking out a little of his frustration on his partner. Steve walked into Mike's office and dropped the small bundles on the desk. "What's this?"

"Food. I thought you would need a little fuel in the tank before we moved on this afternoon."

Mike looked up at him. Leave it to Steve to know exactly what he needed after a meeting with the captain. "You know, this is not going to stop me from finding out what happened last night with you and Miss Grisko." He opened one of the parcels and took a bite.

"Nothing happened last night, we had a sandwich, I walked her to her door, end of story," Steve decided to push his luck, a little jab usually brought Mike out his politics induced moods, "and would you please get you mind out of the gutter, she's like 20 years old."

Mike smirked at him, "Has that ever stopped you before?"

Steve smiled and looked at the floor, running his hand through his hair.

"Well?" Mike looked at him pointedly.

Steve blushed, "Well, no."

Steve sat down as Mike finished his lunch. "Do I want to know what Olsen wanted?"

Mike never got chance to answer. The phone on Steve's desk rang. He left the office and picked it up, his stomach dropping when he heard the panicked voice on the other end.

"Steve, um, Inspector Keller, this is Lizzy Grisko. Um, can you come over right away? Somebody trashed my apartment."

*SOSF Episode _\- Beyond Vengeance_


	10. Chapter 10

Steve dropped the phone and went back into Mike's office. "We have a problem."

"No buddy boy, you have a problem. I have one of my own: meeting with the Mayor," he paused and looked at the clock, "in 20 minutes. What's up?"

Mike grabbed his coat and hat and followed Steve out of the bull pen. Steve filled him in as they walked. When they got to the door, Mike looked at Steve. "After you are done at the apartment, you know you're going to have to bring her back with you to ID the body."

"I suppose." Steve stared at the car keys in his hand.

"It has to be done and you know it."

"Yeah I know it, but I don't have to like it."

"No you don't." _and neither do I,_ Mike thought.

They parted ways in the parking lot.

When Steve got to the corner of Chestnut and Mason, Lizzy was leaning against the front window of the deli.

"Did you touch anything?" Steve asked as they climbed the steps.

"No. Wait. Yes. I touched the phone, but that's it." She handed him the key.

He looked at the lock before opening the door. It did not appear to be forced. "Who else has a key to the door?"

"As far as I know, only Pam and Nonna." She thought about it a moment and amended her response. "Well with Pam, you never really know who she'll give the key to."

Steve assumed if Ms. Molinaro had a key, it meant Vince more than likely had access as well. That thought was not terribly comforting. "How long were you gone?"

"About an hour. I went to the laundromat after you left, came back and dropped the clothes and everything was fine. I went to the market and when I got back, well you'll see. Funny thing is, while I was walking to the market I had the strangest feeling someone was watching me, but I didn't see anybody."

Steve opened the door and stepped around the discarded grocery sacks. Lizzy waited on the landing.

The place was indeed trashed. Cabinet doors and drawers hung open, contents strewn on the floor. The freshly laundered clothes were dumped and scattered. The furniture was bereft of cushions, upended and the bottoms slashed. Steve poked his head into the bedrooms. The conditions were not much better. After a cursory examination, he concluded the damage was the result of a rather hasty search. But for what? Lizzy was really lucky whoever tossed the place was gone when she got back. It was a lot of damage for someone being there under an hour.

Steve exited the apartment and relocked the door. Lizzy was now sitting on the landing with her head in her hands. "I have to go down and call so I can get the lab guys out here. Is there anybody I can contact for you?"

Lizzy looked up at him with moist eyes. "No, my buddy Jeff's out of town and I don't want my folks to know about this. They never really wanted me to live in the city. One phone call will effectively end their financial support and my college career. I'm not going back to the suburbs, ever."

"Are you sure?"

She seemed to recoup her resolve. "Positive."

Steve knew she was going to need every bit of that resolve. Her day was only going to get worse from this point forward.

Steve took the stairs at a jog. Vince Molinaro was blocking the exit when he reached the bottom step.

"What the hell are you doing back here, cop? You and Lizzy looked awfully cozy last night when you walked her upstairs, you come by for a little fun this afternoon? Betcha she's really something in the sack."

"Would you just shut up?" Steve was annoyed by Vince's crude reference. "I'm here doing my job. Which, I can't do if you don't move."

"Sure you are. What did that crazy chick do now?"

"What crazy chick?"

"Pam. I told mamma to get rid of her. She calls her _Venus,_ yeah Venus my ass, just a cheap tramp if you ask me." He made no mention of Lizzy in his diatribe.

"No one is asking you, now move." Steve made to walk past; but Vince, who was half a head taller and outweighed him by at last 50 pounds, stayed put. Steve was at a disadvantage and he knew it. "Man, are you really this dense? Get the hell out of the way." He was just about at the end of his patience.

"And what are you going to do about it pig?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe arrest you and haul your butt downtown for interfering with a police investigation." One way or another they needed to interview Vince. If he was dumb enough to get himself arrested today, it would just save Steve a return trip.

He was really batting a thousand over the past two days. First, his run in with Walters at the opening, then the fun and games this morning in the deli and now Vince again. The only difference from last night was that he could do something about this jerk now. As Steve reached around to pull his cuffs from the waistband of his jeans, Vince proved how truly intellectually challenged he was.

00000

Mike cooled his heals in the Mayor's outer office for nearly an hour. His temper was at the boiling point when one of the Mayor's minions came out to speak to him. The man offered his Honor's sincerest apologies for the wait, but it seemed he had been called away and would not return until Monday. As aggravated as Mike was, he was also a little relieved. With any luck, by Monday he would actually have some progress to report. If not, the mayor would probably be calling the feds.

When he returned to LTD, he tried to raise Steve on the radio. After no response to his hail, he drove down to the apartment. Cutting over Market Street, he took the left on Mason and followed it over Nob Hill, past the latest crime scene and continued on towards Chestnut. He was paused at the stop sign on Lombard, a block from the apartment, when a light blue VW bus turned right on Mason displaying a plethora of decals and bumper stickers on the back. Mike was agape at his good fortune.

Not wanting to spook the driver, he held back and then followed the van as it turned left on Chestnut, continuing past the apartment and up the hill. He was surprised to see a black and white parked behind Steve's green Galaxie, but proceeded, pursuing the vehicle until it turned into the drive at the Institute. _Maybe Steve was right_ , he thought as he followed the vehicle to a parking place behind the school. He pulled over and watched as a short, middle aged woman with steel grey hair exited the vehicle and entered the school.

Calling in wants and warrants on the plate, he got out of the car and entered the school, catching sight of the woman in the semi lit hall, as she turned the corner in the direction of the main office. He had a sneaking suspicion he was not going to be happy when he discovered who owned the vehicle.

The woman took out a key ring and opened the darkened administrative office. Light flooded the space as Mike reached the door and followed her into the room. She was hanging a key ring on a hook by the desk when she turned around, startled by Mike's sudden appearance.

"What the heck are you doing in here?" she shouted in a thick German accent.

Mike pulled out his ID as explanation.

"Oh, cop. I should have known by the hat and raincoat," she said in a more reasonable tone. "You really scared the _scheiss_ out of me."

"Sorry about that. "Name's Lieutenant Stone. Can I ask you a question?"

"Millie Eichenmuller. She extended her hand, "Sure, shoot."

"The vehicle you pulled up in, is that yours?"

"No, the _Beluga_ belongs to the school. I was borrowing it to move some paintings."

"The _Beluga_ , like the whale?"

"That's what the kids call her." She laughed, "They are also responsible for most of the artistic additions on the back. Pretty much anybody can borrow her, as long as they have a driver's license. Most of the kids and a lot of the staff live in the city and don't have access to a larger vehicle or a vehicle at all. It's a real help when you're moving artwork or supplies."

 _Helpful at moving dead bodies as well, but not much good to our investigation, but maybe..._ "Is there a log book?" He asked hopefully.

"Well, technically there is, but you're dealing with artists here, so most the time it's borrowed on the _honor system."_ She laughed again, _"_ When people are done they just hang the keys back up on the hook. _"_

"Do you know who the vehicle is registered to?"

"Not sure, maybe the school, maybe one of the administrators or benefactors, why?"

"I'm afraid I can't say right now. When did you pick it up?"

"About ten o'clock this morning and to be honest, I wish the log would have been filled out this time. Whoever had it last left a heck of a mess in the back. You should see it."

"I intend to." Mike was slightly encouraged by the presence of a mess. Maybe their killer had finally left a clue, assuming it was the suspect vehicle.

Eichenmuller raised an eyebrow at Mike's last comment. "Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, two things. Do you mind if I take a look in the back of the van* and is there payphone anywhere around here?"

00000

Steve could not believe that Vince had been stupid enough to take a swing at him. He was even more stunned when the punch landed square on the jaw. The surprise didn't last long, he gained control of the larger man easily in the confined space. "You have got to be kidding me," he swore before reading Vince his Miranda rights. Steve marched him out to the Galaxie and shove him in the backseat before radioing for backup.

He leaned on the hood of the car and pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing at the blood on the side of his face. He felt foolish for letting Vince get a shot at him and was going to have a hell of a bruise as a reward. He cautiously shifted his jaw. While he was pretty sure nothing was broken, it didn't feel great either. Lizzy, who had run down the steps when she head the fracas, went into the deli and got some ice, which he gratefully pressed at the site of the rapid swelling.

Uniformed officers took care of transporting Vince. Lizzy and Steve went back in the deli. He used the pay phone to call for a lab team and then tried the number for Mike's desk phone but got no answer. Lizzy was trying to calm Mrs. Molinaro when the chimes announce an arrival. Steve wasn't overly surprised when Mike came through the door.

Steve looked at Lizzy pointedly and asked her to take the older woman in the back with a sweep of his head. He had no desire to recount her son's misdeed in front of her. After the women had gone, Steve related his close encounter with Vince's right hook.

Mike pulled down the ice pack and let out a low whistle. "That's gonna leave a mark, probably should have ducked."

"No, kidding. You should feel it from the inside. I can't believe he was dumb enough to take a poke at a cop." Steve rolled his eyes and replaced the icepack. "Have you been at the mayor's office all this time?"

"No, he stood me up and as opposed to you," Mike winked. "I have actually been making progress on the case. I think I found the van." Steve winced when he attempted a smile. "But don't get too excited, wait until you hear who has access to it."

Mike briefed Steve on the parentage of the _Beluga_ and the lack of a clear chain of possession.

"Great." Steve sighed. "So the presence of the van at the crime scene last night and the trace on the body doesn't really prove anything. I hate to say this, but we still could be looking at a copycat."

 _*Probable cause laws in the United States allow police officers to legally search a vehicle if it matches the description of a vehicle used in a crime, or suspected in a crime, without a search warrant. Also, if evidence is clearly visible through a window, a vehicle can be lawfully opened._


	11. Chapter 11

"I pray to God not." Mike was sincere in his wish, one maniac was bad enough. "Hopefully we can get something once the lab is done processing the van. It's actually owned by the school, I got the call just before I pulled up here. It's being towed in so Charlie and the boys can do their magic. Any word on when they will be out to dust the apartment?"

"We got lucky there," Steve responded. "Slow day, someone should be here within the hour. Now what?" He already knew the answer Mike was going to give him.

"We need positive ID on the victim. Do you want me to take her in while you wait for the lab guys?"

Steve was grateful to Mike and severely tempted by the offer, but ultimately decided he should be the one to tell her. "No, thanks, I'll take her in. After that, I think we need to figure out if Pam ever made it to the opening last night and if she did, when and who she left with. There was a gal at the door with a guest list, so it should be easy track. If she did turn up, she couldn't have stayed long with a time of death around midnight. Lizzy and I left about 10:45."

"Your certain you want to take her to the morgue?"

"Yeah. It's ok. I also want to see if Bernie is positive about the time of death. If he is, I think we have a problem."

"How's that?"

"I had eyes on Walters until almost 11 and Vince was manning the counter here until just before midnight. Seems like a stretch that either one of them could have killed her under that time constraint. We know she hadn't turned up at the gallery before we left, but if she did turn up later…" He hated to admit it, but if either man was the killer of the first three victims, Pam's death was more than likely caused by someone else.

Mike got up and went to front door of the deli, locked the door and flipped the sign to _closed_. Steve walked around behind the counter and passed through the door into the back room, which was a combination of storerage, kitchen and walk in refrigerator. Mrs. Molinaro and Lizzy were sitting on stools. It appeared as if Lizzy had calmed the matronly woman with a combination of hot tea, Kleenex and a sympathetic ear. He removed the ice pack from his jaw and dropped it in the sink.

"What happens next? As much of a creep as Vince is, he is her son." Lizzy kept her voice at a whisper.

Steve matched her tone, in consideration of the older woman, although she really wasn't paying attention to what was being said. "He'll be booked and questioned, once I get back to file the charges. Then he will go in front of the judge. That has to happen within 48 hours here in California. The judge will decide if he will be held over for trial, if he can be bailed out, or if the charges should be dropped. Simple Assault is a misdemeanor, but since I'm a cop, well, that changes things. He's going to need a lawyer for sure and he's going to be in lockup for a while. Does she have any other family?"

Lizzy shook her head and gathered her Nonna in a hug. Mrs. Molinaro's tears began in earnest again. Steve felt bad, her son was an adult and none of this was her fault. His sympathy did not extend to Vince. He put his hand on his chin, stretched open his mouth, and shifted his aching jaw. As annoying and painful as the situation was, He was glad to have a reason to keep their suspect was under wraps for now.

The pressing question was how to extricate Lizzy from her role as dutiful adoptive granddaughter. He didn't want to mention Pam's potential demise in front of Mrs. Molinaro. She was already upset. The death of one of her girls would just exacerbate the situation. Mike entered the storeroom and observed the awkward tableau.

"Mrs. Molinaro, is there someone we can call? We are going to need Miss Grisko to go up with the lab team when they arrive to investigate the break in."

Steve turned to Mike with a question in his eyes. Lizzy did the same.

"Fr. Tony." She squeaked out. "Lizzy get the number for Fr. Lombardi at St. Francis of Assisi, he's a nice boy."

Lizzy retrieved the number and made the call. "He'll be here in 20 minutes, Nonna."

There was an official sounding knock on the outer door. Mike peeked through the entrance to see a uniformed technician flashing a badge. _Perfect timing._ He addressed his next comment to Steve.

"Inspector Keller, can you take Miss Grisko and let the lab team in upstairs? I will stay here with Mrs. Molinaro until Fr. Lombardi arrives."

"Sure." Steve finally caught on. He let Lizzy go first and trailed her toward the door. "Thanks." He mouthed.

"Good Luck." Mike said in a barely audible tone as Steve swept past.

When they exited the deli, Steve asked Lizzy to wait by the car.

Lizzy looked at him with a wary expression. "What's going on? You didn't say anything about me being up there when they check the apartment."

"I'll tell you in a minute, I need to let these guys in."

He pointed the team to the stairs and then jogged up to unlock the door, handing the key to the technician. "Dust and photograph the whole place. I don't know if anything is missing. We'll have the tenant check it out after you're done." He was about to walk away when he remember one more detail, "Make sure you put a security hasp and padlock on the door before you leave. We don't know who has keys to the place, and we want to make sure the scene is secure. You can drop the keys with Lt. Stone before you leave."

Steve walked back down the steps more slowly, stalling. The time had come to give Lizzy the bad news.

"Lizzy, I need you to come with me." He opened the car door for the young woman.

"Are you going to tell me why?" She was getting annoyed and even more anxious about the mysterious request.

Steve slammed the door and walked around to the driver's side door. He slid in and before he turned over the car, he looked at Lizzy. "There's no good way to say this, so I'm just gonna lay it on you. I am so sorry, but we found another body this morning."

Lizzy breath caught as she looked at Steve, saying nothing.

"And, um," his professionalism fractured as he looked in her terrified eyes. "Um, I, um, we think it might be Pam. Her parents are in Africa, so I, uh, need you to, um, identify her at the morgue."

Lizzy shut her eyes. A single tear trailed down the side of her face as she opened them again and gazed blankly out the windshield.

He hated this part. Seeing people at the worst moments of their lives. You could never tell how they would reacted. He'd seen it all: anger, fear, denial. He had even seen people laugh at the news when emotions short-circuited the brain. Lizzy just stared, with slow tears randomly sliding down her face and onto her sweater. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He didn't even have a handkerchief to offer; his was blood-covered and discarded back in the store.

Steve started the car. He was surprised by a small voice as he threw the vehicle into gear and pulled away from the curb. "How long were you going to wait to tell me, coward?"

00000

Neither said a word on the drive to Bryant Street. Steve knew she really didn't mean what she said. Grief and shock had momentarily taken over her mouth, but he also knew that he probably deserved the epithet, seeing as he had put off telling her until he had no other choice. He parked and walked around the car, opening the door.

"Do you think you can handle this?" What a question to pose to someone who had lost a friend. No one could or should have to handle this. It was an absurd thing to ask anybody to do. He asked anyhow and at that moment, he despised what he was.

She nodded as he led her to the waiting area outside the morgue. Steve grabbed a box of tissues from the receptionist's desk and dropped it on the couch next to Lizzy.

"I'll be right back."

She didn't even react. He exited through the double doors searching for Bernie, locating him in his office.

"Steve."

"Bernie. You got our "Venus" ready? I have the roommate out in the lobby."

"Yeah, give me 5 minutes to pull her out of the fridge and put her in the viewing room. How's the girl holding up?"

"Good question. I have no idea. She hasn't said a word in 20 minutes." Bernie let out a tired breath.

Steve walked back into the lobby. Lizzy hadn't budged. Her tears still fell but she was so numb, she hadn't even bothered to grab a tissue. Steve pulled a few from the box and pushed them into her hand, tossing the box off to the side and sitting down next to her.

"It will be about 5 minutes. Do you need anything?"

Lizzy shook her head, trying to hold it together. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to imitate Vince and take a swing at the man sitting next to her who had shattered her reality. She wanted to run as far away from there as possible. She did nothing, closing her eyes and willing the nightmare to be gone when she reopened them.

It didn't happen. She heard the door squeal and someone cleared their throat. Steve put his hand on her arm. She flinched and opened her eyes.

"Let's do this." Lizzy got up and walked toward the door.

00000

Mike sat with Mrs. Molinaro until there was another knock at the door. He walked out of the back room to find a 30-something man in a clerical collar gently rapping on the glass.

"Father Lombardi?"

"Yes, and you are?"

"Lieutenant Mike Stone, San Francisco Police, Homicide." Mike flashed his credentials.

"Homicide? I thought Vince got arrested for assault?"

Mike proceeded to explain the situation with Vince, the break-in and the probable death of Mrs. Molinaro's "Venus."

"Where is the other girl, the one who called the rectory? I know she tries to take care of Mrs. M."

When Mike explained that she had gone down to identify the remains, the priest made the sign of the cross.

"That's awful, no 20 year old should have to do that. Tell me this, was Pam the one found on Nob Hill last night?"

"I'm afraid so." Mike was stunned, until he saw the late afternoon edition of _The Chronicle_ under the young priest's arm. The news of the latest victim had already hit the papers. He remembered the appearance of Joe Randolph at the park as they pulled out.

"Have you told Mrs. Molinaro?" Fr. Lombardi knew she would take the new hard, especially coming on the heels of Vince's arrest.

"No, we were holding off until she got a chance to digest the arrest. We also need to notify the next of kin first and they are out of the country, so it could take a while."

The priest shook his head. "Such a waste. Well, let me get Mrs. M next door, calm her down and then get Vincenzo a lawyer. You will let us know about the other matter soon, Lieutenant?"

"As soon as we can." Mike handed the priest his card, "And Father, just a heads up, this might get a whole lot worse before it gets better."

Mike left the deli and climbed the stairs to the girl's apartment. When he entered the door, he agreed with Steve's assessment. It certainly looked like the scene of a hasty search. He addressed the lab tech who came out of the bedroom.

"Anything jumping out at you?"

"No sir, we got lots of fingerprints, and I mean lots of fingerprints. Seems these girls weren't very good housekeepers. We'll have to get their prints so we can exclude them."

"You can get one set from Bernie in the morgue. Steve will get the other."

"The morgue?"

"Yeah, we found one of them in the park this morning."

"Nob Hill?"

"Yep. This scene may be related, so we need whatever you can get as fast as possible."

"Yes, sir. As soon as we can."

"How much longer are you going to be?"

"Hour, at least. If you need to go, we'll drop the keys at your office later."

Mike exited the apartment and trotted down the stairs. He was surprised to see a young man entering the door from the other direction.

"Can I help you, son?"

"Yes sir. I'm looking for Lizzy. I saw all this crap going on and I was worried about her. Is she ok? I saw her with a new guy last night. Nothing happened did it?"

"No, not as far as I know." _Steve_ , Mike thought. He really didn't want to tell the young man anything, but did offer, "Somebody tried to break in, nobody was home. You are?"

"Jeff Powers, sir, I'm a classmate of hers. I was supposed to go skiing, but had a change of plans. I wanted to see if she was interested in catching a flick."

"She's downtown with my partner making a statement." _Technically true_. "I'll let her know you stopped by."

With a terse "Thanks," Jeff turned and left through the street door.

Mike looked at his watch. It was going on 5 pm. He figured the gallery must be opened by this point on a Saturday. They needed the list from last night's event. He also wanted to talk to Campbell about his clipped conversation with Todd Walters.

A young woman with a long ponytail and blue glasses approached Mike as he entered the gallery. She looked him up one side and down before speaking.

"Can I help you, sir?" She amended that when Mike showed her his badge, "May I help you officer?" She said in a tired voice.

She took off her sunglasses to reveal eyes equally as bloodshot as Steve and Lizzy's. At that moment, Mike was thankful Steve had been the one to cover last night's _festivities._ He was pretty sure he didn't want to know what all went on here last night.

"Yes you can. You had a party here last evening and I understand you had a very specific entrance procedure. Is it possible that I can see your guest list?"

"Well, um, we usually keep that confidential. Some of our guest have a rather high profile."

"Listen Miss…"

"Applebee, but you can call me Lilian."

"Lilian, I can get a court order if you want, that will make the list _very public._ I'm not really interested in celebrities. I just want to see if a certain person attended the party."

The woman thought it over. "How about this, you give me the name and I will tell you if they turned up or not. Does that work for you?"

"Yes, for now. The name is Pam Woodward."

Lilian went behind the counter and grabbed a clipboard, scanning down a printed page.

"Well she was definitely invited, but no, while I was on the door she never showed. Of course, it doesn't mean she didn't come in the back. Not _everybody_ comes in the front, but I didn't see her."

"Did anybody else cover the front door?"

"Nope, just me and we locked up after one. Her roommate was here, though, and I tell you what, she left with a real looker." She sighed a little, "Friend of Anna Kearns and Ted Brooks. Wouldn't have minded leaving with that one myself."

Mike shook his head and laughed. "One more question Miss. Is Mr. Campbell available?"

"Saturday after an opening? Fat chance. He probably closed the party down about five. For an old guy, he sure does like to have fun."

He laughed again and handed her his card. "Thank you Miss Applebee. If you do see him, can you have him give me a call?"

Mike walked out of the gallery and sat down in the driver's seat of the LTD, preparing to depart, when Todd Walters came down the street and turned into the Gallery. He sat for almost 20 minutes until Walters exited. Todd looked around suspiciously before walking to the corner and entering a cab. Mike put the car into gear and followed the taxi at a discreet distance.

00000

Lizzy sat quietly nursing a cup of coffee, curled up on a chair in Mike's office. Steve sat on the edge of the desk with a cup of his own, battling a newly born headache. Their visit to morgue had been brief. She knew at a glance that her friend was dead.

"When did you see her last?"

"Yesterday. I went back to the apartment at lunchtime. I needed to change into my uniform for work. Shit! I was supposed to be at work at 5. I'm gonna get fired."

"Don't worry. We'll call and take care of it."

Lizzy continued. "Pam was sound asleep on the couch. She went to the Van Morrison concert Thursday night and didn't come in until Friday morning. Her class was canceled because, well, because Ted didn't show up. I didn't have the heart to wake her. She left me the invitation for the opening on the counter and I…" Lizzy stopped short, as if she'd remembered something important.

"What is it?"

Lizzy put her cup on the desk and dug into the pocket of her jeans, producing a small gold key.

"She left this for me in the invitation."


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Sorry for the posting delay. I spent a week cut off from cyberspace and enjoying my family. Then my brain was hijacked by another story. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and I wish you all peace, heath and great blessings in the New Year. MBC**_

 _ **Now back to the mystery!**_

"Sorry about the _coward_ comment."

"It's ok, I probably deserved it. When I saw the picture this morning in the deli, I knew it was her. We had to hold off until the coroner tried to call her parents, but they're out of the country. I didn't want you to have to do this, honestly.

Lizzy shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it's better that I saw her, you know, closure and all that new age bullshit."

Steve didn't have a response for her last statement. He picked up the small gold key sitting on Mike's desk and turned it over in his hands.

"Do you know what it opens?"

"Locker at school, but as far as I know Pam's never kept anything in it."

"When can you access them?"

"The studios are pretty much open twenty-four seven. You know, _artistes._ There is a security guard on the Francisco St. entrance, through the alley. You can sign in and work whenever the mood strikes. But I don't even know where her locker is."

"Are they numbered?"

"Yeah, but the code on the key isn't the locker number." She showed Steve her key. "We're going to have to wait until Monday when the office is open to find out her number."

"Maybe, maybe not." Steve was pretty sure after four murders, compelling someone to open the office and retrieve the list wasn't going to be a problem.

"Any idea why she left it for you?"

"Not a clue, but she did say she wanted to tell me something, but, well, she never got a chance."

The last statement started Lizzy's tears in earnest. She put down her coffee and covered her face with her hands. Steve sat down behind the desk. He looked in the drawer for Mike's stash of handkerchiefs and slid one over to the weeping young woman. He got up to go over to her but she put her hand up to stop him. He sat back down, closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting her cry herself out.

Time passed. He'd nearly fallen asleep when he noticed a change in the tone of her grief. He opened up his eyes; she was staring at him. "What?"

She wiped her face with the handkerchief and tossed it on the desk. "What now?"

Steve wasn't sure what or how much to say to her. It seemed cruel to tell her that she might be the center of this whole mess. He also wanted to talk to Mike before he said anything to Lizzy. He shelved the idea and went with a safer line of questioning.

"You said you thought someone was following you when you went to the market. Anything else weird happening lately?"

She thought about it for a moment, "Yeah, actually we've been getting a lot of hang up phone calls. I wanted to get a new phone number, but Pam laughed it off, just like always. She was really something."

"What do you mean?"

"Pam was what I guess you would classify as a _free spirit._ She kind of went where the wind blew her. She never really took anything too seriously. I guess being raised with money gives you that kind of freedom. She would dabble in anything and with anybody if it amused her and got her what she wanted."

Steve was surprised at Lizzy's sudden candor. "She have any enemies?"

Lizzy laughed. "Other than everyone in school?"

"So she did."

"No, not really. People were jealous of her, hell I was jealous of her. She was rich, beautiful and talented. She was like a bonfire. Everybody was attracted to her. Her heat and light made everything around her more beautiful."

Steve ran with Lizzy's metaphor. "Did anyone ever get too close and get burned?"

"No, she would never let that happen. I was probably the closest to her, living in her reflected glow. I never even got a sunburn." Lizzy smiled thinking of Pam as light. "She lived life by her own rules and made me crazy every single day, but no, I don't think anybody hated her enough to kill her."

Lizzy got up and stretched, excusing herself to the ladies room. Steve was starting to wonder what had happened to Mike. He should have been back from the scene by now. He poked his head through the door and gave a general call out. "Anybody heard from Mike?"

After receiving negative responses, he checked his watch. They had been back over two hours. He picked up the phone and made the promised call to Lizzy's boss at No. 9 Fisherman's Grotto. He was hanging up the phone when the crime scene tech from her apartment entered the office. He dropped the keys on the desk.

"Lt. Stone told me to bring theses here."

"How long ago?"

"About an hour or so."

"He happen to mention where he was going?"

"Nope."

Steve tried to figure out where Mike might have gone as the lab tech stood by, waiting silently.

"Any time frame for results?"

"I don't have a clue. With everything going on with the _Da Vinci_ case, who knows? Although the Lieutenant mentioned this case might be related. Speaking of which, I need to get the tenants' fingerprints. I'll get the one set from the morgue. Can you bring the other girl down to the lab?"

"Sure. When can she get back into her place?" Steve was pretty sure Lizzy didn't have anywhere else to go, although the thought of her returning to the ransacked apartment gave him pause.

"We're done. I don't see any reason to maintain the scene. We have pictures and everything we need is in evidence already."

The lab tech left and Lizzy slumped back into the office. "What happens next?"

"First, I need you to come down to the lab for fingerprints so we can exclude yours from the ones we took at the apartment, and then, you have a decision to make. Do you want to go back to your apartment, or is there somewhere else you can stay?"

She thought it over for a moment, "Is it's safe?"

"I think so, if they wanted to get at you, they could have just hung around till you got back. We did put a temporary lock on the outside. You should probably change the door lock as soon as you can. I'll have a black and white swing by a few times tonight if it will make you feel better." It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was all Steve had at the moment."

Lizzy pinched the top of nose like she had a headache. She could stay with Nonna she supposed, but truth be told, she just wanted to be by herself tonight.

While she was thinking it over, Steve grabbed a piece of paper and left Mike a note; folding it over and picking up the keys. He walked around the desk and offered her his hand, pulling her up out of the chair. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, gave him a weak smile and proceeded out of the office. As they walked past his desk he scooped up the charging documents for Vince Molinaro.

"Fingerprints, huh?" That's a new one for me."

00000

Mike followed the cab carrying the artist at a discrete distance. The sun was just about down and traffic was picking up as San Francisco geared up for a busy Saturday night. The cab swung around on Chestnut and backtracked, making a right on Polk. After 20 tortuous minutes of traffic lights and stop signs, it pulled up to the Mitchell O'Farrell strip club on the corner of Polk and O'Farrell in the Tenderloin. Mike drove past at a safe distance and pulled over as Walters exited the cab.

Thinking this trip was nothing more than a distasteful diversion for the lecherous teacher and a waste of his time, Mike looked back at the scene in the rear view mirror. He was surprised when Walters walked past the entrance and continued along O'Farrell Street, disappearing into a dismal, deserted looking 3 floor walk-up. He considered following, but age, experience and a feeling he knew where Walters was headed stopped him. He looked for a phone booth instead, spying one on the corner. Leaving the car, he dialed the number for the office.

"Homicide, Lessing."

"Lee, it's Mike. Is Steve around?"

"He just left with Grisko, I think he was taking her down to the lab for prints."

"Do me a favor, get the Kohler file off my desk."

"The victim on the Powell Street Line roundabout?"

"He's the one."

Lessing walked into the office and picked up the file. He saw the note Steve left on the desk and retrieved it as well, returning to the phone.

"Got it, Mike. What are you looking for?"

"Home address."

Mike heard papers shuffling and then Lessing's voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"842 O'Farrell, Apartment 3. _Nice neighborhood._ " he added sarcastically.

Mike was intrigued. What the heck was Walters doing visiting the home of a dead man? Even more interesting, when questioned at the school, he had made no mention of knowing the first victim, even when Steve had asked him point blank about the deceased alum. Could Steve be right about the arrogant teacher?

"Thanks." Mike was about to hang up when Lee spoke again.

"Hold on, Steve left you a note, you want me to read it?"

"Shoot"

" _Mike, I'll put the paperwork in on Molinaro. He can stew overnight, we'll question him in the morning if that's ok. I'm taking Miss Grisko to get printed and see if the lab has anything for us on the Nob Hill crime scene or the van, then I'm going to run her home. I'll make sure to get a black and white to run by her place a couple of times tonight just to be safe. After that, I'm gonna to call it a night, I'm beat. Give me a call later._ "

Mike looked at his watch, it nearly 7. He had to admit, he was tired as well. He was getting a little too old for 3 am wake-up calls. He again considered following Walters up to the apartment. _By myself and tired, bad idea Mike._ He could call for backup, but the lab team had already checked the place out once and found nothing, so Mike wasn't sure what the point of following Walter's up would be. Steve and he would come back in the morning and take another look.

"Lee, do me one more favor. If you see Steve, tell him I got his message and I'll phone him later. I'm heading home."

"Will, do. Goodnight Mike"

He got back in the car and waited for another half hour, but Walters never reappeared. He drove home, mulling over this latest twist. What the hell was Walters up to?

00000

Lizzy was at the sink making a futile attempt at removing the printing ink from her fingers. Steve had stepped out when Lizzy was being fingerprinted, finishing up the paperwork on Vince's arrest. He was just walking in as she tossed a paper towel in the trash.

"Good thing I'm an art student. My hands look like this most days of the week."

She picked up her purse and followed Steve out to the car.

"You sure about this? You've had a rough day. Between Pam and you're place being trashed, we could find someplace else for you tonight. Maybe you could stay with Mrs. Molinaro. She probably could use the company."

"I actually thought about it, but I'd rather be alone. It's ok, Keller. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

They drove in silence. Steve pulled the car up to the curb in front of the darkened deli.

Lizzy looked at the closed store. "It's weird to see the place dark. I'm sure there are a lot of unhappy, hungry folks out there right now."

Steve got out and opened the door for Lizzy. She followed him up the steps and waited while he unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. It was worse than she remembered. She stood still in the open doorway stunned to silence.

After closing the door and making a quick check of the apartment, Steve came back to the front door. Lizzy was still standing mutely in place.

"Crap" Lizzy swore almost to herself. "This is going to take me all night to clean up."

Steve bent over and started dropping the spilled groceries into the sacks on the floor. He picked up the bags and set them on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"If it's going to take all night, maybe we should get started?" Steve took off his jacket and dropped it next to the groceries. He walked over and began to upright the furniture.

"You don't have to do this."

"Protect and serve, Ma'am. Just part of the job." He gave her a lopsided grin, momentarily sidelining his exhaustion, and put the cushion back on the couch. He really did feel for the spunky art student. Bad day didn't even begin to cover what happened to her. This was the only way he could think of to help her get through the next few hours. She shrugged and grabbed the trash bin, starting on the opposite side of the room.

After about two hours and several trips to the dumpster, the apartment began to resemble a habitable living space. Steve went over to the sink, got a glass of water and washed the grime off his hands. It occurred to him that he was starving. He looked at his watch. It was past nine and he was pretty sure he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Lizzy came out of Pam's room and shut the door. Her eyes were wet with tears. She had been very quiet for most of the evening and Steve didn't force the issue. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and flopped down on the couch. Steve got another glass from the cupboard and filled it at the sink, joining the young woman on the couch.

"Hungry?" He handed her the water, which she downed in one gulp.

"Actually, yeah, now that you mention it."

"Is there any place around here other than the deli?"

Lizzy got up and walked over to the fridge. Most of the fresh food she'd just bought had to be tossed. She pulled out a loaf of bread and some sliced cheese. "I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich, you game?"

"You don't have to do that." He knew she was broke.

"Yeah I do, thanks for the help." She pulled two bottled of Cokes out of the fridge and tossed him one, then put a skillet on the stove.

"I'll try not to spill this one, OK?" Steve laughed as he took a long pull from the bottle.

After their impromptu supper, Steve slipped on his jacket. He wrote his home number on a scrap of paper laid it on the counter. "Are you positive you are ok being here tonight? It's not too late to change your mind."

"Yeah I'm sure. It'll be fine. I really need to do this."

They stepped out on the landing. She gave him a quick hug. "You know what Keller? For a cop, you're not so bad."

"Thanks, I think." He smiled. "You have my number. If you need anything, call me. Doesn't matter what time it is, OK?"

"OK."

Steve waited while she locked the door, then trudged down the steps and out onto the street. He sat behind the wheel for a moment before he turned over the engine. It had been a long time since he had felt this tired. His jaw ached from its close encounter with Vince's fist and he still had to talk to Mike once he got home. Looking back at the apartment one more time, he prayed for a peaceful night for the young woman and drove off. As wrung out as he was, he never saw the figure observing his departure from across the street.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve heard the phone while attempting to unlock the front door. He dropped the keys and cursed in his haste to get inside and answer it. The phone stopped its incessant clamoring just as he put a hand on the receiver.

Picking it up anyway, he dialed Mike's number.

"Where the hell have you been, I've been trying to call for over an hour?" Mike sounded tired and perturbed.

"I helped the Grisko girl pick up her place. Why so impatient?" Steve expected a snide remark about hanging around the young woman's apartment, he wasn't disappointed.

" _Really_ , I thought you were going right home to _your_ bed.

" _Give me a break,_ Mike, you would have done the same thing and you know it. You got anything."

"True," Mike paused as Steve's impatience grew. "Might have a new angle."

"What?" Exhaustion never improved Steve's phone manners.

Mike called him on it. _"Gee, Mike that's great. "What did you find out?"_ While lack of sleep made Steve short and irritable, it totally incapacitated Mike's sarcasm filter.

"OK, OK I get it. Can you _please_ tell me what you found out so I can go collapse?"

"That's better. Well, I actually found out two things. First, As far as the gal on the front door knows, Woodward never turned up at the opening."

"That explains the time of death, but I think it also puts our suspects in question." He chose not to cover his line of thinking again. "What else?"

"I followed Walters from the gallery down to an apartment in the Tenderloin; Gary Kohler's apartment."

The revelation got Steve's attention. "What the heck was he doing there? Walters said he didn't know him."

"I have no idea…"

"You followed him up, didn't you? What if he was destroying evidence?"

"Unlike what you would have done, hotshot, I thought it out before I went charging up there."

Steve huffed loudly into the phone.

Mike smiled, knowing he had hit a true chord with his partner. "The crime lab had already been there, so there was nothing left to hide. We can go back in the morning and check it out."

Steve rubbed his chin, he needed a shave, and ten hours of sleep. As snarky as Mike was being, Steve knew his partner needed the same. Steve had to admit, Mike made the right call on following Walters up to the apartment, but he wasn't going to tell him that. "Ok, it will be our second stop."

Now it was Mikes turn to ask questions, "What do you have?"

"Key to Pam's locker at the institute. She left it for Lizzy. Said she had something to tell her, but never got a chance. Grisko says the roommate never used the locker. We don't have the number, but with 4 people dead, getting it from the powers that be at the Institute shouldn't be too hard." He momentarily thought about Dean Stein, and his less then helpful attitude, but dismissed it.

They both were quite for a moment. Mike finally spoke up. "You think maybe we got the motive on this one all wrong?"

"Maybe, I don't know. At this point I'm have trouble stringing two thoughts end to end. Hopefully we'll get some help from the lab tomorrow and we can figure this out."

"You know we still need to interview Molinaro tomorrow, too. On top of that, from what Olsen told me when we met, there better be some progress by Monday morning or the Mayor's gonna turn the whole mess over to the Feds. Another busy fun filled day tomorrow, buddy boy, you'd better get some sleep."

"That's the plan." Steve desperately hoped for a quiet night. "Just one more thing, Mike. How much do you want to tell Grisko?"

"That's a good question, but until we have a good answer, I'm thinking not much more than she already knows. I'll meet you at the office at 7:00."

"Ah, Mike really, How about 8:00?"

"7:00"

Steve hung up the phone and slumped up the stairs. He looked at the clock. It was past 11pm. _I need different job_. He dropped down on the bed, not even bothering to undress. He looked at the phone, toying with the idea of calling Lizzy, to make sure she was settled. His last conscious thought was the debatable wisdom of his decision to leave her at the apartment alone.

00000

Lizzy flopped back down on the couch after locking the door, looking around the freshly reorganized apartment. The room was dark, save for the pale golden tint filtering through the window from the streetlight on the corner. Surprisingly calm in the apartment, in spite of the break-in, she sat with her eyes closed.

Sleep eluded her. A full shift at the restaurant was in store tomorrow, but her mind refused to turn off. Pam was dead. Other than when she broke down at the police station, and that had as much to do with the initial shock as grief, she really hadn't thought a lot about it. Now with nothing to do and nobody to talk to, she could think of nothing else. Lizzy wept again.

She shivered and opened her eyes. At some point, sleep had overcome her. She rubbed her face and stood, trying to read the time on her wrist watch in the dim light. _Damn, 1 am_. Stretching the kinks out of her neck and back, she padded to the sink and poured a glass of water, wondering what had awoken her so suddenly.

Lizzy pushed aside the curtain covering the window above the kitchen sink, trying to focus. The glass slipped from her hand and smashed on the counter when she saw someone staring up at the window, at her. Stepping to the right, out of eyeline, she tried to calm her suddenly pounding heart. She looked again, careful not to be seen, and panicked. No mistake, some was definitely there. She pawed the counter, in search of the scrap of paper with Steve's phone number, slicing her left index finger on a shard of glass. She swore and put her finger in her mouth, trying to keep the blood from baptizing the counter and floor, all the while continuing her hunt for the number, finally locating the paper scrap.

Unwilling to turn on the light, she dialed the phone in the darkened room, keeping well away from the window. Her hand was shaking so badly, she nearly misdialed the number. _Answer, answer, answer,_ she pleaded silently as the phone rang again and again. When the call was answered, it seemed no one was on the other end of the line. Lizzy shouted for help into the receiver.

Steve knocked the phone off the nightstand in his zombie-like attempt to pick up the handset. He could hear the near hysterical voice loud and clear, but his sleep dulled limbs were not responding to the urgent instructions from his brain. He finally righted the phone.

"Hello?"

"Steve, it's Lizzy. Someone is outside my apartment, _please_ help me." Her voice sounded like a terrified child.

"Ok, you need to hang up the phone. I'll call dispatch and send a cruiser, then I'll call you right back. Get away from the window." Steve knew it would be a couple of minutes before he was awake enough to drive, a black and white would be there in half the time.

Lizzy hung up the phone and sat on the floor, back to the wall. Trying to still her panted breath and shaking hands, she nearly levitated off the floor when the phone rang out minutes later.

"Lizzy?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I'll stay on the phone until the patrol car gets there. Then I'll head over. Are you out of sight?"

"Uh hun"

Steve was desperately trying to engage her in conversation to help her calm down, but his mind and mouth refused to cooperate. He could hear her labored breaths clearly through the line. Finally he was able to form a coherent sentence. "Can you tell me what you saw?"

Lizzy continued to take deep breaths, calming slightly. "I'm sorry." She finally whispered.

"Sorry for what, that's why I left my number. Tell me what happened."

"I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I went to get a drink of water and thought I saw someone looking up at the window." She put her finger back I her mouth and cleaned off the latest leakage. "It scared me, so I stepped away from the window and peeked again. There was somebody there, but, uh. Oh man, now a feel stupid. It might have been just uh, I don't know… and now I've gone and woken you up."

"Don't feel silly. With what has gone on today, you need to trust your instincts. If you felt threated or scared, that was a perfect reason to call." Steve paused for a moment, adding, "You know, sleep is really overrated."

His flip remark made her breath easier.

"Guess I should have stayed with Nonna after all. I'm such an idiot."

"Would you just stop? It's no problem, really."

Lizzy looked up at the sight of a red and white strobe painting her apartment. "I think the cops are here."

"Good. Stay on the line with me. They will take a look around and then come up to the door. Don't take the chain off until you see their ID's. Once someone is with you, I'll be right over."

They chatted a few minutes about nothing until Steve heard a loud rapping on the door. Lizzy put down the phone.

"It's ok Steve, they didn't see anything." She was now calm and felt foolish. "You don't need to come over here. I'm acting like a scared rabbit."

"Hey, it's alright, I'm already up and no you're not. I'll be there in 15 minutes." He hung up the phone.

Steve considered calling Mike, but decided against it. At least somebody would get a good night's sleep. It was his own fault that she was there alone. He should have insisted on other arrangements. _Hindsight._ He slipped on his boots, took a few aspirin for his aching jaw and brushed his teeth, praying a shower would be in his future sometime in the next 24 hours.

00000

Lizzy was drinking tea with her eyes at half mast when Steve entered the apartment. He spoke quietly with the uniforms before they departed, then locked and chained the door.

"How are you holding up?"

She put down her cup on the small kitchen table and said nothing. Steve walked into the kitchen and picked up the kettle. It was still warm. He opened the cupboard and found some instant coffee. Although he knew it was vile, he made a cup anyway and joined the young woman at the table, grimacing after the first sip.

Lizzy finally acknowledged his presence and fully opened her eyes.

"OK, I guess, I don't know. Do you have any idea why is this happening?"

Steve knew this question was coming. Even after his conversation with Mike, he was tempted to tell her their original obsession theory. Instead, he played it by the book.

"We're not sure. Everything seems to be centered on the institute. Hopefully we will find out more tomorrow, when we look in Pam's locker and get lab results." Lizzy stared blankly and yawned. Steve wasn't sure she was processing anything he was saying.

"Glad my riveting conversation is keeping you engaged," he said with mock sarcasm.

She turned to him and smiled. "Sorry, you must think I'm schizoid, terrified one minute, comatose the next."

"No, I think you're someone who has pegged out on the crisis-meter for the day, hell for a lifetime. Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll sit up out here and then tomorrow we will try to find some safer digs for you."

"You can't do that, you look like hell…"

"Gee, thanks." Steve smiled at her faux pas.

"That's not what I meant, you just look really, really tired."

"I know, but I'm fine." He took another swig of coffee, "That is, if this stuff doesn't kill me." He got up and dumped the balance of the cup in the sink.

"Sure?"

"Sure."

00000

Sunday Morning dawned clear and chilly. Steve had spent most of the early morning hours paging through Lizzy's copy of Gardiner's _Art Through the Ages.*_ He lingered on the plates depicting the artworks profaned by the Da Vinci Killer, revolted by the senseless brutality he'd seen in the last few days. He dozed off at some point after six and awoke to the sound of a running shower. He looked at the kitchen clock.

"Crap, Mike's gonna kill me," he said to no one. It was 8:15. Grabbing the phone, he dialed Bryant Street.

"Stone, Homicide."

"Mike, it's…"

"Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty, nice of you to check in. Where the heck are you? I've been calling your place for an hour." Steve felt a strong surge of déjà vu. He had this same conversation with Mike less than 10 hours ago.

"Sorry, but…"

"I don't care what excuse you have this time, get your tail down here, pronto. We've got some interesting lab results."

 _*Gardener's is the gold stander of art history text books. Most art student to this day own a copy. I still have my beloved, battered edition from the 70's._


	14. Chapter 14

Steve was splashing cold water on his face at the kitchen sink when Lizzy exited the bathroom. He ran a wet hand through his hair. It didn't improve the situation much.

"Did you sleep at all?" He asked as she opened the fridge, looking for something to eat.

"I guess I did." She pulled out a coke and handed it to Steve, "You look like you need this more than I do." Lizzy walked around him and grabbed the kettle off the stove and filled it at the tap. After retrieving a mug and tea bag from the cupboard, she sat down at the kitchen table.

Steve set the soda on the counter, as much as his body needing the caffeine, he couldn't quite face the cold beverage at this time of the morning. "What are your plans today? I really don't want you to be alone after last night."

"I have to be at work by 11. I guess I'll have to find someplace to stay later. One of my friends might be able put me up for a couple of days. For now, I think I'll head down to Nonna's. If I know her, she probably will want to open the deli today. Vince usually covers on Sundays but... I guess I'll help out until I have to go to work."

Lizzy turned off the stove, hoping Nonna would have coffee ready. Steve pulled out his wallet. "I need to go. Take a cab to work. Give me a call when you're done. Hopefully by then we can find you someplace to stay."

She was going to refuse the carfare, and the fuss, but she couldn't shake the fear she'd experienced last night, even though the whole situation made here feel a little silly. "Thanks, I'll pay you back. And thanks for rushing over here last night. I can never repay your kindness."

Steve gave her a tired smile and locked up the apartment before they walked down the stairs. As predicted, the deli was open and Steve made his exit to Bryant Street.

He looked in the rearview mirror and groaned upon entering the car. He longed for a shower and a change of clothes, but dared not delay, lest he incur the wrath of one Lieutenant Stone.

00000

Mike was standing by the coffeepot, refilling his cup when Steve came through the door. He poured a second cup after looking at his tired, rumpled partner.

"Unless I miss my guess, aren't those the same clothes you had on yesterday?"

"Geez, you must be a detective or something." Steve responded sarcastically before accepting the cup. "Yes, they are and I have perfectly good excuse…"

Mike was way ahead of him, the report of the prowler already on his desk, but could not resist spinning up his sometimes gullible friend.

"Save me your tales of Saturday night debauchery. When are you going to learn to grab a few hours of sleep when you can?"

Steve was too tired to take the bait, "Give it rest, Mike. I humbly bow to your great wisdom, oh learned one. Now, what have we got?"

Mike backed off. If Steve gave in that easy, he must truly be exhausted. He put his hand on Steve's arm. "I already know about the prowler at Grisko's apartment. Was there anything to it?"

"Maybe." Steve shrugged and drained his mug, quickly pouring another cup.

"Well, while you got your beauty sleep, or not, I got a hold of George Stein. He's meeting us in an hour to check out the locker. In the meantime, we have a date with Charlie down in the lab."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. The thought of the day ahead suddenly overwhelming. "What about Kohler's apartment and the interview with Molinaro, should we split up?"

"Let's see what Charlie has for us before we make a decision."

They set down their cups and walked to the lab. Charlie was reviewing a file on his desk when the pair entered the office.

"You got results for us?" Mike asked before the door even closed.

"Where do you want to start, the van, the apartment or the trace on the latest victim?"

Mike gave no response so Charlie continued, pulling a typed sheet from the folder. "Let's start with the van. We found blood on the drop cloth, human blood. Not enough to compare to the victims, but its presence is pretty compelling. We also found linseed oil soaked into the carpet. It's almost like it was spilled and never cleaned up, probably the source of the trace on your victims. I already talked to Bernie this morning, there was linseed oil present on the Woodward girl and Gary Kohler, so we have it on all four victims. I'm fairly confident the vehicle was used to transport one, if not all of your bodies."

"How about prints?" Mike asked before Steve could open his mouth.

"How about 'em? We have dozens. They are still being processed."

"How does any of this help up? We were pretty sure it was used when we had it towed in." Steve exhaustion was demonstrating itself as a complete lack of patience for the obtuse scientist.

Charlie raised an eyebrow turned his focus to Mike. Mike smiled and patted Steve on the shoulder. "Excuse him, he suffers from a complete lack of manners sometimes, you know young people these days. Please continue."

Steve rolled his eyes, Charlie resumed. "We do have prints in common with ones we pulled at the Grisko apartment."

Now Steve was interested. "Have they been identified?"

"We don't have anything to compare them to. You get us a suspect, we'll compare the prints."

"What about the PRINTRAK* system they have over in San Jose? I heard they were having good results with it."

"Charlie looked surprised. "Where the heck did you hear about it?"

"Journals, I don't know. It's based on the FBI's system, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but it only works if your perp has a criminal record. Plus, we don't have access to it here in San Francisco. You got any contacts over there?"

"Possibly." Steve answered.

Mike looked on quizzically and finally spoke. "Boys, this is all very interesting, but how does it help us?"

"Even if we don't have a suspect, the computer can compare our samples to a database of criminals with print records on file, generating a short list of possibles. I think it will be the next big thing in police work." Charlie explained the system Steve had referenced.

The mention of the computer made Mike skeptical. "Sounds like some sort of electronic hocus pocus to me, but if we can't find anything else, we might have to give it a try." He addressed his next statement to Steve. "In the meantime, hotshot, how about we do some police work to old-fashioned way: shoe leather, investigation, interview and intuition?"

00000

"What are you thinking Mike?" Steve asked as they exited the building and got into the LTD. Mike had been very quiet on the way to the car and Steve could almost hear the wheels turning in his partner's head. He handed Mike the keys, too wrung out to even consider driving.

"I'm thinking about Walters. We need to find a reason to bring him in and get his prints. When we were looking at the obsession angle, he didn't seem like a viable suspect to me, but I'm convinced there is something else going on here. The conversation with Campbell, the secret trip to a dead man's apartment. Plus, he lied to us. Do you know if there was a connection between him and Woodward?"

"I couldn't say, but we can certainly ask Ms. Grisko about it." Steve was a tiny bit pleased Mike was now considering the arrogant art teacher as a suspect. "What about Molinaro?"

"I don't know, he doesn't seem the type to engineer a plot like this, but we'll still have to talk to him. He was printed when they brought him in, so we can get those to Charlie for comparison."

Mike pulled the car up in the lot behind the Institute. Steve had gone quiet, resting his head against the window on the trip to the institute. The Lieutenant was unsurprised at the low snores coming from the passenger seat. Looking at the dark circles beneath his eyes and the Technicolor bruising gracing his partner's jaw, he considered letting the young man nap, but a sharp rap on the window made it a moot point. Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Mike rolled down the window.

The Dean's crossed arm posture exuded impatience and ire. "I'm glad you're on time. I'm not real happy about letting you see the contents of a student's locker. I think it sets a bad precedent, so let's get this over with."

In spite of the Dean's curt greeting, Mike addressed him pleasantly. "We appreciate your cooperation. Hopefully, there is something in the locker that will help us figure out this mess."

Steve pulled a flashlight from under the seat of the car. He and Mike exited, following Stein to his office. The Dean opened a file cabinet and pulled out the master locker list, copying the number on a card and handing it to Mike. "Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you where it is so we can get this over with and you can be on your way."

Steve looked at Mike, trying to read his reaction to the rude administrator's behavior. By his expression, Mike seemed to be getting the same strange vibe from the man.

"You know, if you just tell us where the locker is, we would be happy to continue on our own. We'll check out with the Security Guard on the Francisco Street entrance when we are done. Does that work for you?"

The Dean considered Steve's proposal. He was somewhat surprised Steve knew about the 24 hour security arrangements. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep an eye on what's going on."

Steve was out of patience with the uncooperative Mr. Stein and Mike knew it. Before he did anything to jeopardize their access to the locker, Mike put a restraining hand on the young man's shoulder. "That will be fine, Mr. Stein," Mike said with forced civility before he mouthed _play nice_ to Steve. They exited the office.

Steve and Mike fell in step with the short, balding administrator and followed him through a maze of darkened hallways.

When he came to an abrupt stop, he held out his hand. "I assume you have the key, because if you don't, I think I'll need to call our lawyer and make sure this is legal."

Steve dug in his pocket, retrieved the small golden key and handed it to the Dean. He clicked on the flashlight as Stein opened the door. It really wasn't a locker in the traditional sense, more like a small storage closet about four foot square. Steve stepped in and swept the light over its entirety. The closet was empty.

"Well gentlemen, that little exercise was a titanic waste of my time. If there's nothing else, I'll show you out."

Steve stepped out of the closet. Stein grabbed the door, but before he could swing it shut, Mike stopped him. He reached over and retrieved a small white envelope, which was taped to the back of the door.

 _*PRINTRAK was one of several precursors to the AFIS system, designed by the Rockwell Corporation. While final comparisons were done by human experts it could generate a list of possible matches. It was in use in several cities, including San Jose, in the US in the early 1970's. The San Francisco Police finally began using it full time in 1984._


	15. Chapter 15

Steve leaned against the car as Mike bid the Dean goodbye. They were both happy to be rid of him. Something was off about George Stein, but neither man could quite put a finger on it. Mike walked back to the car and pulled the envelope from his pocket, handing it to Steve. "Open it, I don't have my glasses."

Steve opened the flap, removed a single sheet of paper and several photographs. He handed the pictures to Mike and flattened out the hastily scribbled note on the hood of the car.

 _Lizzy,_

 _When I stayed over at Todd's a couple of weeks ago, something weird happened. I was taking a shower and I heard a guy come in. Todd and whoever it was really got into it. I think they even took a couple of swings at one another. I don't know who it was, but the whole thing scared the shit out of me. I stayed in the bathroom until I heard the door slam and then I slipped back into the bedroom and got dressed. Todd just about threw me out of the apartment. I grabbed my bag off the floor and got the hell out of there._

 _I really didn't think any more about it. Todd can be such a wack job sometimes, especially after a few tokes. When I was cleaning out my bag after I got home, I found an envelope with these pictures in it. All I can think is they must have dropped into my bag from the coffee table when Todd and whoever were scuffling around in the living room._

 _I don't know, maybe I'm paranoid, but I think something is going on. When I was at school, I asked Todd if he was missing any photos and Jesus, he freaked out, I thought he was gonna slug me. He said he needed to get them back and asked me to bring them to him. He kept bugging me about them, but you know me, I just kept forgetting to take them to school. That's when the hang up phone calls started. Last week he threatened me. If I didn't return the photos, he was going to report me to the school for my "extracurricular" activities and their relationship to my grades. What a joke, I would have rolled on him to the Dean so fast it would have made Todd's head spin. I guess he thought his rep made him bulletproof._

 _I don't know what to do, heck I don't even know what the pictures mean. I wanted to talk to you this morning, but you needed to get to class. When I went to school and Eichenmuller canceled class, I was just going to give them back to Todd and be done with it, but I don't know, I just kept them. My locker seemed as good as any place to stash them until we can talk._

 _If you're reading this, I assume you got my key in the invitation, maybe you can figure out what these are._

 _Pam_

Mike flipped through the pictures, handing them one by one to Steve.

"What do you think they mean?" Mike asked after Steve looked at the final shot.

"No idea, they look like photos of paintings, but there is some kind of stamp in the corner. Pretty good paintings, maybe expensive paintings? Maybe the reason for the break in and maybe a reason to bring Walters in for questioning?"

"Absolutely."

"Why would somebody get so worked up about pictures of paintings?"

"I don't know," Mike said as he put the pictures and letter in his trench coat pocket, "but I think we need to stop at the gallery before we head to Kohler's apartment."

Steve and Mike left the car in the lot and walked one block to the Charles Campbell Gallery. It was a little after 11 am. The lights were on inside, but the entrance was locked up tight. Mike rapped on the door and after a few moments, Lilian Applebee peeked out through the window. She looked at Mike and nodded, unlocking the door.

"Back so soon, Lieutenant? And you brought a friend, how lovely." She tuned and gave Steve a thousand megawatt smile. Steve returned her smile with a weary grin. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his shield.

"A cop, geez, now I've seen everything." She sounded disappointed. "You sure don't look like any cop I've ever seen."

"Name's Keller. Miss…"

"Applebee, but call me Lilian."

"Lilian, can you do us a favor?"

Her smile came back. "Anything love, shoot."

Mike shook his head as he reached in his pocket and pulled out the pictures. "These mean anything to you?"

Lillian laid the photos in a row on the counter and gazed at them for a few moments.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Is it important?"

"Kinda. These are photos of Todd Walters' paintings. Our next installation is going to be a big show of his work. It's really good stuff, probably his best to date. I was surprised when I saw the paintings because frankly, his work over the last 5 years or so was crap, he's been selling on his reputation. With this new stuff, he might pull in a couple hundred thousand or more. No one is supposed to have reproductions right now, at least not until the presale catalogue comes out."

Steve looked at Mike with a raised eyebrow, Mike nodded his head. Steve asked a follow up question. "Do you recognize the imprint on the corner?"

"Nope, never saw it before."

Mike thanked the young woman, adding, "Do us a favor Lilian, don't tell anybody, even Mr. Campbell, you saw these for the time being, ok? We'll get back to you."

"Sure, no sweat."

They left the gallery and walked to the car in silence. Mike spoke first. "I saw that look. What are you thinking?"

Steve looked at the ground and put a hand through his hair. "Second oldest reason in the book for murder: money."

"Keep going."

"I don't know, maybe I'm way off, I'm so tired I don't even know what I'm saying. Kohler was an artist, right. Sells paintings to tourists at the wharf, but he keeps painting his _important_ stuff on the side. He's a nobody, can't even sniff a gallery show. Along comes Walters, big name, big reputation. I don't know, maybe he sells the work to Walters for cheap, or Walters steals them, and passes them off as his own. Kohler gets wind of the show, comes to the apartment and calls him on it. Maybe that's what Pam heard."

Mike picked up Steve's thread. "Kohler brings the photos of the pictures and what? Threatens to expose him as a fraud, says he'll go to Campbell. The little conversation at the gallery?"

"Walters kills him to shut him up. He kills Pam, or she falls when he corners her to get the evidence back, then he searches the apartment. If he killed her, he would have access to her apartment key. Seems like a lot of ifs and maybes, Mike. And where do Anna Kearns and Ted Brooks figure in?"

"Kearns worked at the gallery. Could she have found out somehow and told Brooks about it?"

"It's possible. Now, how do we prove it?"

Mike was silent for a moment. "We need to look around Kohler's apartment and we need to identify the stamp on the pictures. You think Grisko would recognize it?"

"Could be, she knew him. You know, if she can identify the mark, we can haul Walters in and sweat him. You know, we probably need to put her someplace safe until we can get it all worked out."

Mike got behind the wheel of the car as Steve slid into the passenger seat.

"This makes sense, buddy boy. Actually, it makes a hell of a lot more sense than a string a killings based on an obsession with a perfectly ordinary art student."

"Where to first?" Steve asked.

"What time did Grisko go to work?"

Steve looked at his watch. "She should be there now."

"Then I think we're taking an early lunch at Fisherman's Wharf."

00000

Mike pulled the LTD up to the curb. It was a little early for the lunch, but the Pier was swarming with tourist. The smell of raw fish, salt water and diesel exhaust slightly nauseated Steve as he followed Mike into the restaurant.

"The middle-aged hostess saw them coming and greeted Mike at the door. "Well Mike Stone, long time no see, and who is this handsome young fella with you?"

"Morning Mary, he's my partner. It has been a long time. I'm looking for Lizzy Grisko, is she in yet?"

"What she do? She's such a nice kid, hard worker, too."

"Nothing Mary, just need to ask her a quick question."

The hostess departed. "Do you know everyone in San Francisco, Mike?" Steve commented with a chuckle.

"No, wise guy, but I've been here plenty, even though it's a tourist spot, they have great food. Helen used to love this place." A small smile crossed Mike's face.

Lizzy followed Mary to the hostess station. "Steve, Lt. Stone what's going on?"

Steve spoke up. "Nothing really, we just have some pictures for you to look at." He didn't want to scare her by letting on how important they might be.

Mike pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed her the pictures. She took a moment and flipped through them.

"Where did you get these pictures of Gary's paintings? He didn't really show them to anyone."

"How do you know they are Gary's?" Mike asked.

She gave him a quizzical look. "Well, first I've seen them at his apartment, he showed them to me the last time we went over there for a beer and second, that's his imprint on the photo, why?"

Steve chimed in, "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yeah Steve, I'm sure. Why all the intrigue?" She was starting to get irritated, despite how helpless she came off last night, she knew what she was looking at.

"What do you want to do about her?" Mike directed his comment to Steve.

"She's probably ok right now, nobody knows we have the pictures except Lilian and she said she'd keep it on the down low. Maybe bring her into Bryant Street?"

Lizzy put her hands on her hips, "Uh, fellas, I'm standing right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I already missed a shift. If I want to eat, I need to work, so forget about me leaving."

Mike looked a Steve, who shrugged his shoulders. Lizzy's stance and attitude was very reminiscent of another young college student they knew. "Ok. I get it," Mike said, "but let's get a cruiser over here to keep an eye on you and the restaurant, not much of a stretch on a busy Sunday at a tourist spot."

Steve and Mike turned to leave. Confused, Lizzy nearly shouted at them as they walked away, "Hey, wait a minute, does this have anything to do with Pam?"

Steve trotted back to the young woman, "Geez, keep it down, will you. It might, we don't know yet. Until we find out, I need you to stay put. We will have someone on the pier to keep an eye on you. Hopefully we can get a handle on this before long. Ok?"

"Ok. Sorry. Will you be around later?" She wasn't technically afraid, but for some reason, the whole situation was easier to wrap her head around when Steve was present.

"Sure, what time do you get off?"

00000

Gary's Kohler's apartment was a third floor walk-up in one of the seedier neighborhoods in the San Francisco. Despite being a few doors up from an infamous adult entertainment house, O'Farrell Street was not a nice place to live. The Tenderloin was the home of cheap housing, derelict buildings, and the illicit sex and drug trade. It was also rapidly becoming the home to a host of Vietnamese refugees.

Mike pulled up to the curb at 842 O'Farrell Street.

"Third floor." Mike said as they entered the building He had taken the time to retrieve the keys from evidence before they left Bryant Street.

"Of course it is, nice smell by the way." Steve commented as they trudged up the dark staircase.

The crime scene tape had been torn away from the entrance, but it was still locked, _or relocked_ , Mike thought. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully grabbed the knob as he unlocked the door, not wanting to disturb what he assumed were Walters' print on handle.

Both men peered in the door. "Uh, Mike, we might need to get the lab back out here."


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Greetings from the frozen east coast of the United States, Maryland specifically. After being clobbered by what my husband called a $#% of snow and the accompanying digout, another chapter.**_

The apartment was a disaster area, not unlike Pam and Lizzy's domicile after the break-in. In addition to being searched, however, it smelled faintly like a campfire. Mike entered, careful to avoid the piles of rubbish liberally strewn in the living/studio space. He followed his nose to the kitchen and opened the oven. A large pile of ash and small scraps of charred paper were heaped on the floor of the oven.

Steve trailed Mike into the apartment. "Looks like somebody spent quite a bit of time destroying evidence. Please tell me the lab boys took a full set of photos when they were here before."

"The lab boys took a full set of photos when they were here before."

Steve smirked at Mike's parroted response, "Thanks Polly." He found the phone, picked up the receiver with the corner of his flannel shirt and set it back on the cradle, grateful when the dial tone returned. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he dialed the lab, surprised when Charlie answered on the first ring. After requesting a team, he walked over to Mike who was carefully sifting through the ashes with a kitchen spatula, looking for larger shards. "Lab will be here in about 30 minutes, what do you have?"

"Looks like more photos. And here," Mike pointed to a melted pool of brown plastic, "negatives maybe." He reached back with the spatula and found a chunk of charred wood, hooked it and dragged to the front of the oven, flipping it over.

Steve crouched down and looked more carefully. "Not much left, but I'll bet you a pizza at Mama's it's the stamp used on the corner of the pictures Pam found.

"No bet. Right now it's all hearsay and circumstantial, but once the lab finishes in here, I think it's about time to invite Mr. Walters down to Bryant Street."

00000

The lunch rush had come and gone. Lizzy sat by the payphone, flipping through her address book. She was three quarters through the alphabet and still hadn't found a place to stay for the next few nights; almost desperate enough to call her parents, almost, but not quite. She would rather tough it out at her place, or stay with Nonna until Vince got out on bail, than go home to Hillsborough.

A short term solution was only part of the problem. Once all this was settled she was either going to have to move or find a new roommate. An apartment on her own was out of the question. How had her life gotten so screwed up? Lizzy was tempted to feel sorry for herself, but then she thought about Pam, and to a lesser extent Gary, Anna and Ted.

Looking at her watch, she realized that her break was over. The restaurant was busy, even for a Sunday. Maybe she could pull in enough tips to call a locksmith, get her door secured and just go home. A mirthless laugh escaped her lips as she got up and retied her apron. Yeah and maybe she would win the Miss America Pageant in September. She wiped a few stray tears from her eyes and went back to work.

00000

"You are a genius," Steve said as Charlie handed him a folder containing crime scene photos and finger print cards.

"About time you realized it." Charlie replied as he led several techs into the apartment.

Mike cleared a space on the counter. Steve spread the 8x10 black and white photos across the surface.

"Looks like quite a few things are missing." Mike picked up one of the shots and compared it to the devastation currently decorating one side of the apartment. From his casual comparison, there were at least a dozen canvases missing from this view alone.

Charlie looked over Steve's shoulder. "Apparently, someone went shopping for oil paintings at discount prices."

Once they compared the entire apartment, there were at least 3 dozen works of art missing. Mike picked up the print cards. "Charlie please, find me one print that is the same as the ones from the van and Grisko's apartment. We could really use a break on this case." A lab tech was busy pulling prints from the door knob and oven handle.

"I always _try_ Mike, but we still don't have anything to compare them to."

"With any luck, we will have something after we bring in Walters."

Steve leaned against the wall, out of the way of the techs, and closed his eyes. He was quite sure at this point he could have slept on his feet if he stayed in one position too long. He heard Mike clear his throat and opened his eyes. With print cards in hand, a broadly smiling Mike motioned to Steve. "Let's see if we can find the person who belongs to these."

Mike and Steve exited the apartment. Mike had observed Walters at the apartment building, so they had more than enough to bring him in. If they could tie these prints to him, they would have him for breaking and entering at the girl's apartment. They could also put him in the van that transported the bodies, as well as Pam's note. The match alone should be enough to get a search warrant for his house and studio. Things were finally coming together.

Steve shook his head. "I find it hard to believe that Walters would think he could get away with passing off someone else's work as his own."

"You said it yourself," Mike replied, thinking back to their original interaction with Walters and Steve assessment of him, "He thinks he's above it all and smarter than everyone else."

"I guess." Steve pulled his notebook from his pocket and handed over Walters' address. Mike recognized the Macondray Lane location as one of the nicer areas in Russian Hill. "No starving artist here," He said as they got into the car. The small street was decidedly upscale and walking distance from the institute.

"No, it's a pretty high end neighborhood," Steve agree. "I looked down here when I got my place," the alley was only 6 blocks from Steve's current address, "but not on a cop's salary. I just hope he doesn't try anything stupid, I'm not up for a footrace today."

Mike looked over at his weary partner, "Speak for yourself, hotshot. If he takes off, it's one more piece of evidence we can bring to the Judge when we ask for a warrant to search his place." Mike honestly didn't want to be chasing a suspect through the wooded neighborhood, even though he prided himself on his ability to run down a perp. "I tell you what, if he runs, you can call for backup and I'll go after him."

Steve rolled his eyes at Mike's last statement as he got out on the Taylor Street side of the lane. He looked at the tall twisting wooden staircase with disgust. The house in question, number 15, was only a few doors from where he stood, but significantly higher in elevation. Mike pulled the car around the block to the Jones Street side; Macondray Lane was only accessible by foot. The narrow slash was deeply shaded by large trees and undergrowth. It wasn't only dark; the vegetation also effectively muffled the normal background hum of the city. By entering from opposing sides, they had effective boxed in their suspect.

Mike parked at the mouth of the alley, which on Jones was at street level, radioed in their location and got out of the car. He had always marveled at this sliver of green on Russian Hill, but today was no time for sightseeing. He walked briskly toward the opening of the verdant enclave. In the hush created by greenery, there was the sound of approaching footfalls. Knowing it wasn't Steve, who was closer to the address, he unclipped his .38 and walked forward, entering the alley.

00000

Todd Walters finished his beer and crushed the can, adding it to quite a few more in the trash. He looked around his apartment. Now everything was finally under control. It had taken him a while, but he was pretty sure he'd removed any trace of Pam Woodward. He'd disposed of her clothes and hand bag and wiped the blood off the stairs where she had fallen. Stupid kid, why didn't she just tell him where the pictures were.

He couldn't figure out how she'd even gotten the photos in the first place. Sure, she was there when Gary came by and he supposed she had heard the argument. Gary had acted like a fool, bringing those pictures. He could have never gotten a show at the Campbell Gallery under his name, he didn't have the connections. With what Todd had paid him, at least he could support himself. Todd really didn't see Kohler's problem with the arrangement.

At some point, things had gone off the rails. He'd brought Pam to his place late on Friday afternoon before the opening, thinking she would be more pliable to his scheme after a little chemical recreation and some fun in the bedroom. They would have had plenty of dough and a wild ride for the near future. She had instead gone all noble on him. Dumb broad, she got what she deserved for crossing him.

He had to admit, she'd made the perfect Venus and the sight of her displayed in the fountain had taken his breath away. Either that or the effort to haul her ass to the van and up that blasted ladder, she sure didn't look that heavy.

Laughing a little at his own joke, he got up and looked at the pile of paintings needing transport to the van. He had been surprised when he went to borrow the Beluga and it wasn't there. Forced to rent a U-Haul van to move the remaining canvases five blocks to the Campbell Gallery, it was an expense he could ill-afford at the moment. He brushed it off. After the show, money would not be a problem. Gary Kohler's death had given him free access to large number of unknown paintings. Unfortunately, it was a finite supply.

A slightly buzzed Walters walked towards Jones Street carrying several large canvases, now confident he had it all covered. Nothing was left to tie him to Kohler at the Tenderloin apartment. He'd seen to that. Pam was dead and the secret in the photos had apparently died with her. They weren't in her apartment, he'd made sure of it when he used her keys. He was confident the cops had no idea what was going on. Even if they did, they were idiots anyhow. At least that's what Todd thought, until he saw Mike Stone at the mouth of the alley.

Raising his voice, Mike called for Walters to stop. Todd flung the canvasses to the ground, blocking the path and took off in the opposite direction. Mike shoved the obstruction off to the side and chased after him, losing sight of the fleeing suspect in the overgrown lane.

Mike continued his pursuit, carefully pick his way across the uneven paving. He could hear Walters in front of him, closer now than before, and hope he could overtake him before he reach the end of the alley. When that became unlikely, he shouted for Steve, hoping to alert him to the fleeing suspect.

00000

Steve slowly climbed the stairs, each hour of missed sleep making the job more problematic than it would normally be. He paused at the top and looked at his watch, waiting the agreed-upon five minutes. Hearing the echo of footsteps on flagstone, he decided Mike was in position. He thought he heard shouting and instinctively unclipped his holster as he left the landing, walking toward the entrance to the shadowy lane.

Todd Walters barreled out of the alley, running headlong into the unsuspecting detective. Steve attempted to side step and immobilize the fleeing Walters in rapid succession. He was only partially successful. They tumbled down the first set of stairs as Mike broke clear of the alley. Steve gave up on Todd, desperately grabbing for the post where the steps changed direction. Walters continued rolling down the steps, finally coming to a sudden stop on the concrete ten feet below.

Mike ran down the steps. Steve, laying on his back breathing heavily, waved Mike down the stairs to the suspect. Mike jogged down the remaining 10 steps to the unmoving Todd Walters. He reached down, searching for a pulse, knowing the action was unnecessary from the unnatural position of Todd Walters' neck.


	17. Chapter 17

Mike jogged up the stairs. Steve had managed to pull himself up and sat leaning against the post that stopped his decent.

"Dead?" Steve already knew the answer to the question.

Mike looked at his bedraggled partner. "Yeah. Can you make it down to the bottom of the stairs until I call it in and bring the car around?"

Steve nodded his head. Mike extended his hand pulled Steve up amid moans and groans. Mike looked him over with concern and handed him a handkerchief. "You sure you're ok? Maybe a quick trip to the ER after we take care of the body?"

"I'm fine, Mike. Battered, not broken." Steve dabbed at several small abrasions on his face and a larger cut on the hand which had found purchase on the post, and more than likely saved him from a worse fate.

Mike stood his ground until Steve hobbled to the bottom of the stairs. He sat down heavily and waved Mike off, who then retraced his steps through the alley to the LTD.

Steve looked at the body of Todd Walters. Though he had tumbled in a heap, his final landing placed him on his back, in a near straight line, left arm furled out to his side, right draped on his chest, head at an odd angle. A small rivulet of blood was trailing from under his left shoulder. With his longish dark hair and black clothes against the dull sidewalk, Steve's sleep-deprived stair-addled brain saw not the dead teacher, but a vision of _The Dead Toreador_ by Edouard Manet. He rubbed his eyes, drew his hand down his face and over his chin. _I need to get some sleep,_ he thought. _Now I'm seeing things._

He was roused by the screech of the LTD's wheels on asphalt as Mike pulled up to the curb, blocking the view of the body from the street. Several people had appeared at the top of the stairs, attracted by the disturbance. Mike waved them off as a cruiser pulled up behind the tan sedan. Mike sent one of the uniformed officers up to block the top of the stairs from onlookers. The other officer opened the trunk and retrieved two barricades, securing the sidewalk on either side of the body until it could be removed. Late on a Sunday afternoon, the whole scene was beginning to attract more attention than either Mike or Steve were comfortable with.

When the van pulled up to transport the body, both detectives were surprised to see Bernie riding along.

"What are you doing here on a Sunday afternoon?" Mike asked.

"When I heard it was you guys, I thought it might be another Da Vinci body." Bernie glanced over at Steve, who was still sitting on the steps, resting his head against the balustrade. "Is he ok? I've seen DOA's look better than that."

Mike looked pointedly at Steve, in an _I told you so_ sort of way. Steve looked up and slowly responded, "I said I'm _fine,_ ok?"

Mike lowered his voice before he spoke to Bernie again. "Not a Da Vinci body, but maybe our killer."

Bernie raised an eyebrow and crouched down by the body, "Not much question as to the cause of death, broken neck…" He peered up the stairs, "from a fall down the steps, not unlike our Venus."

"We kinda figured that out." Steve deadpanned as he stood and considered the long climb back up the stairs. He gave Mike what he thought was a small smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "On the bright side, I guess we don't need a warrant to search his place."

"Not you buddy boy, you're gonna get checked out and then go home to get some sleep." Mike was regretting not sending Steve home hours ago.

"Ah, come on Mike, I'm ok. Don't put me on the bench now. We need to finish this."

"Tell me truthfully, if you weren't asleep on your feet, would Walters have been able to bowl you over like he did. It coulda been you on the sidewalk."

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He knew he wasn't going to win this debate. "Ok, I'll go home, but no ER, I just need to get some sleep."

"What do you think Doc?"

The Medical Examiner looked up at Mike. "Dead people, Mike. I don't do well with the breathing, but…" Bernie got up and walked over to Steve. He pulled out a pen light and flashed it into his eyes, until Steve batted his arms away. "Pupils look ok, and, um, reactions are fine." He shoved the light back in his pocket. "Did you hit your head at all?"

"No, Bernie. And, uh, this is kind of creepy, you know." Bernie looked at the handkerchief in Steve hand.

"Lemme see." Bernie grabbed at Steve's left arm roughly and pulled the handkerchief out of his palm. An erose cut traveled diagonally from pinky to thumb. It was still weeping slightly. "That looks pretty nasty, are there any splinters in it?"

Steve pulled back his arm. "No. Nice bedside manner."

"Hey, my usual clients don't really care."

Bernie turned to Mike. "He's probably ok to go home, maybe could use a few stitches. Gonna be really sore when he wakes up." He then addressed Steve. "You got a first aid kit at home?"

"Yes." Steve was more than a little irritated at the impromptu medical examination.

"Well, clean it out good and wrap it up, you don't want to get an infection. Take a hot shower and a couple of aspirin before you go to bed, you're gonna need it."

Mike addressed a uniformed officer who had just come on the scene. He pointed at Steve. "Take him home."

Steve was poised to argue, but after one look at Mike's expression, he put his head down and meekly followed the officer to the passenger seat of the patrol car.

"Is he always like that?" The officer driving asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"You have no idea."

00000

After the cruiser left, Mike went back to the LTD to retrieve the print cards.

"Bernie can you do me a favor before you take him in." The body was being photographed before transport.

"What do you need?"

"Can we print him here? I want to get a quick comparison with these." He flashed the cards at Bernie. I'm no expert, but I pretty sure he's gonna be a match."

"No problem." Bernie walked back to the van.

"One more thing," Mike said before he made for the stairs. "When the lab team gets here, give them the prints from the body and send them up to number 15. I'll be looking around."

Mike trotted up the stairs and down the lane to number 15. The door was ajar. He used his foot to push it open the rest of the way and entered the house. At least two dozen canvases were stacked around the space. With what had happened earlier, he assumed Walters was in the process of ferrying the artworks to a vehicle when he'd seen him at the mouth of the alley.

He had barely walked through the place when Charlie entered.

"Looks like I'm following you around today, Lieutenant. What have we got?"

"Dead art thief's apartment and maybe our serial killer's." He pointed to the stacks of canvases. "I think if you compare these to the ones in original pictures from Kohler's apartment, you will have matches. There are a couple more out on the path. Did you bring up the prints from Bernie?"

Charlie handed over the print card. Mike laid it on a drafting table that was just inside the door, turning on the work lamp attached to the surface. He set down the samples from the van, and Grisko and Kohler's apartment. Pulling his glasses from his pocket, he peered at the samples. "What do you think?"

Charlie took a closer look. "I want to have our expert look at them back to the lab, but I'd say you have a match."

The prints didn't really prove anything beyond the break-ins. Walters' prints were a match for the samples from the van too, but it didn't mean he murdered anybody. Mike looked on the corner of the desk. A large book was perched precariously on the end, with newspaper clippings marking some of the pages. He carefully slid the book over and opened to the first marker. _The Vitruvian Man_ was displayed in all its glory. He unfolded the newsprint and let out a disgusted breath when he saw Joe Randolph's byline.

"What do you got, Mike?" Charlie was giving orders to several techs when he heard Mike's reaction.

"Looks like he may have been keeping his press clippings."

Mike flipped the page to the next marker and saw a double page plate of Botticelli's _Birth of Venus._ The clipped news article was from this morning's paper. He set the article aside and flipped through the remainder of the book, but found no other marked pages. He pushed the book out of the way, continuing on to a stack of papers and unopened mail on the table. He carefully picked up several envelopes. One was a bank statement, the other was from the Charles Campbell Gallery.

He opened the Gallery envelope first. It was a copy of a contract and receipt for 25 paintings. Mike looked at the dollar estimates for the sale of the works and let out a low whistle. The total was close to a quarter of a million dollars. Charlie looked up again at Mike's reaction. "Anything?"

"Yep, a reason for murder, now we just have to fill in the pieces." Mike put the contract and the bank statement in his pocket, along with his glasses. He handed Charlie the four matching fingerprint cards "Tear this place apart. See if you can find me any proof that Woodward or the other victims were here. Prints, blood, a murder weapon, anything. I need to go talk to a man about a painting."

00000

Steve trudged up the stairs to his apartment door as the patrol car sped off. He grabbed the first aid kit and aspirin from the kitchen and headed to the bathroom. After a shower that threatened to empty the hot water tank, he cleaned and wrapped the cut on his hand, took more than the recommended dose of aspirin and dropped into bed. He glanced at the clock, vaguely registering 4:30 before he drifted off into a well deserved slumber.

He awoke in the dark with a start, ringing assaulting his ears. It took several tones before his brain recognized the insistent warble of the telephone. He picked up the receiver and croaked a hello.

"Steve, it's Lizzy."

"What time is it?" He whispered, not all together lucid.

"Almost nine, you said to call when I finished my shift."

He tried to sit up, but was paralyzed by a bone deep ache. "Um, yeah right…"

"Are you ok?"

"Sure. Just give me a minute."

Finally convincing his body that sitting up was a requirement, he attempted to shake the sleep from his head. It was a painful mistake "Do you have someplace to stay?"

"Yeah, my buddy Jeff said he will put me up. I just need to run by my place and pick up a few things. If it's a problem, I'll just catch a cab."

"No, no it's ok. Can you give me about 20 minutes?"

"Sure, I can hang out till then, maybe scrounge up something to eat."

"20 minutes then, wait inside the restaurant, I'll be in a Porsche."

"No kidding. Cops must make a whole lot more money than I thought."

"Not really."

Steve hung up the phone. Sitting up was one thing, actually standing and focusing was another. He half considered calling Bryant Street and asking someone else to pick up the girl, but decided he would rather deal with the physical discomfort than the endless razzing his colleagues would dish out.

He groaned and stretched. As he dressed and took stock of assorted bumps and brusies, he wondered what Mike had found out while he slept. He picked up the phone and dialed Mike's number at Bryant Street, unsurprised when his partner picked up the phone.

"Stone, Homicide."

"Mike, it's Steve. What are you still doing at work?"

"What are you doing up? I didn't think I'd hear from you until tomorrow."

"I got a phone call. This morning I told Grisko I'd get her from work to someplace safe. She's going to stay with a friend."

"That's good. Do you want me to pick her up?"

"No I got it, but thanks. You find out anything?"

"Plenty. Walters' prints were a match. I found a contract and …"

Steve's concentration wandered. He was startled when there was silence on the other end of the phone. "What?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Sorry, go ahead."

"I tell you what. Take care of the girl and go back to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."


	18. Chapter 18

Steve pulled up at the restaurant and parked near the front of the building. He walked over to the patrol car sitting in the lot. The uniformed officer rolled down the window as Steve flashed his shield.

"What can I do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you. I'm here to pick up our witness. You can head back to the barn."

The young officer nodded his head as he reached for the radio, "Thanks man, this has been a really dull shift."

Steve was a little miffed by his attitude. Dull on protection duty was a good thing, but he understood the sentiment as a veteran of too many hours camped out in a police vehicle. After the cruiser pulled out, he walked into the restaurant. His nose, and by extension his stomach, was assaulted by the smell of food. Surprisingly, Mary was still at the desk. She looked him over before shaking her head.

"Well, welcome back Inspector. What the heck have you be up to?"

Steve had purposely ignored the mirror when he left the house and knew he must be a sight. "Tough day at the office, you know. I'm surprised you're are still here, your hours must be worse than mine."

Mary laughed. "Nah, somebody called in sick. I guess you are looking for Lizzy. She's back in the kitchen grabbing a bite." Steve stomach picked that moment to announce its displeasure with his neglect. "Sounds like you could do with some sustenance as well, when was the last time you ate?"

Steve blushed and shrugged, "no idea."

"So why don't you go join her."

"Um, I can't exactly afford this place."

"Don't worry about that. Think of it as a thank you for taking care of our girl."

Steve was torn. It wasn't exactly ethical to accept favors like this, although he knew others did it all the time. He was suddenly really, really hungry, however and knew there were scant offerings in the fridge at his apartment. He attempted to take the high road.

"No thanks. If you can go tell her I'm here…"

"Nonsense, I won't tell anyone if you don't." She gave him a _don't argue with me_ look that would have made Mike proud.

Steve followed the hostess into the kitchen. Lizzy was busy dipping a large hunk of sour dough bread into a bowl of chowder at a small prep counter. She smiled in greeting until he got close enough for her to get a good look at his face.

"What the hell happened?"

"My job." He dropped onto the stool next to the young woman.

Mary went over to the line cook and returned with a bowl of soup and bread for Steve. "There you go, young fellow. Any friend of Lizzy _and_ Mike Stone's is a friend of ours. Eat up. Tourist come from all over the world to eat this. _And mums the word."_ Mary twisted her hand as if she had a key locking her lips.

Steve laughed. "Thanks, Mary. I really appreciate it."

"What was all that about?" Lizzy asked.

"Technically, accepting a _free lunch_ is illegal, but my stomach had other ideas."

Lizzy smiled again and went back to her late dinner while Steve dug in.

After a few moments she paused. "So are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Steve knew this was coming and had continued to debate how much to tell her about the case and Todd's demise. Since the prints from her apartment had been his, he figured at the very least he could tell her the mystery of the break in was solved. She would also find out about Todd the minute she hit school tomorrow.

"We know who broke into your place." He offered between spoons of soup. Mike was right, the food was really good.

"Who?"

"Todd Walters. He came looking for the pictures that Pam left in the locker."

"Why would he want pictures of Gary's paintings?"

"We think he was trying to pass them off as his own, he needed to get rid of the evidence."

"That son of a bitch!" The kitchen staff looked over with interest, Lizzy ducked her head and lowered her voice. "Did he kill Pam?"

Steve wasn't sure how to answer the question. "We're not sure."

"Well why don't you ask him? Can't he take a lie detector test or something?"

"No, we don't do that. Polygraphs are really only used on TV and in the movies. Plus, it would be a little hard because he's dead."

Lizzy dropped her spoon. "He's dead? How?"

"Fell down 2 flights of stairs, one more than I did."

"So let me get this straight, Todd was selling Gary's paintings as his own. He killed Pam because what, she had proof? Did he kill Gary and those other people too?" Her head was spinning.

"That's what it looks like, but it's going to be awfully hard to prove."

She thought it over for a moment and a look of relief crossed her face. "Then it's over, and I can go back to my apartment. "Hang on a minute, you fell down the steps?"

"Yep, but I'm fine." He didn't let her respond before he continued. "What about Jeff. I thought he was going to put you up." Steve wasn't ready for another late night call if they had gotten this whole thing wrong.

"Jeff's a great guy and a good friend, but you went to college. How clean was your apartment when you were an undergrad?"

Steve went back to eating, she had a valid point.

Lizzy pulled some change out of her apron pocket. "I'm going to give Jeff a call."

After several minutes she returned.

"Is everything square?" Steve still didn't like the idea of her going home by herself, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it.

"Yep. He was kinda bummed out. He just got back from skiing and really wanted to tell me about it. But I'll see him tomorrow at school. Funny thing, he asked me if you were giving me a lift home. You just about ready?"

That struck Steve as odd. "Yeah. Wait, how does he even know who I am?"

"Remember you met him after the opening at the deli, Long hair, Mountain Dew and Fritos."

After thanking Mary again, they walked out to Steve's car and made the quick trip back to Chestnut Street. He looked around carefully before he got out and opened the door for Lizzy. On their silent ride, he had been thinking about her questions. _Was it really over?_

They walked up the steps and Lizzy handed Steve the keys. He flipped on the lights and took a quick look around.

"We seem to be making a habit of this." Lizzy smiled. She was glad to be home, but wasn't ready to be alone yet. "You want to stick around a little bit, I'm sure there's something to drink in the cabinet. It was against Pam's personal code to let the bar go dry."

Steve knew she was stalling but he was barely functioning at this point of the evening. "You sure you want to stay here tonight? I can still take you to Jeff's."

She could see the exhaustion in his eyes and couldn't help but notice how he had groaned when they were climbing the steps. It made her feel a little selfish and guilty. "Yeah, I'm fine. I need to check my assignments for tomorrow anyhow. Do you think apartment rifled and roommate dead will be valid excuses for not doing my homework?"

Steve couldn't help but smile at the question. "I kinda think they will cut you some slack. You want me to write you a note."

Lizzy made a face. "Sure, I can just see it. _Dear Professor Eichenmuller, Please excuse Lizzy from all assignments until further notice due to a really crappy chain of personal tragedies. Signed, Steve Keller, SFPD._ If this wasn't all so unbelievable, well…" She trailed off and looked at the floor.

"You know what?" Steve picked up her chin.

"No. What?

"You are really something else, Lizzy Grisko. Most people I know would be hiding under the covers, bawling their eyes out after the couple of days you've just had. Here you are going to work, going to school, making jokes, moving forward. It'll take a while, and I'm sure you are going to have some really bad days; days where you can't put one foot in front of the other, but you'll get past this. Trust me."

She looked back at him. "How did you get so smart?"

"Berkeley man, remember."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Get out of here and get some sleep before you fall over."

"Yes, Ma'am. Make sure you lock up. And Lizzy, really if you need anything, call me," He turned to leave and added with a wink, "but not tonight, OK?"

Lizzy locked the door and she heard Steve check it from the outside. She really enjoyed his company, he was like a protective big brother, if she had a gorgeous, personable older sibling. She smiled at the thought and went to take a shower.

As Steve drove home, he made a silent plea for a quite night.

00000

Mike finally pulled in at DeHaro Street at 11 pm. He had a 9 am meeting at city hall and hoped to have something from the lab by then. They were all working overtime on this one, and he wanted to have some good news for the mayor and the city. He was afraid the powers that be would embrace the death of Walters as the end of the Da Vinci Killer whether the evidence supported the conclusion or not. He cringed at the thought of a premature press conference.

There were still so many loose ends. He regretted the fact that Walters had perished before they had a chance to talk to him. It would have made it all so much easier. Molinaro still needed to be interviewed first thing. His 48 hours were nearly up and he would have to go before the judge in the morning. Mike was confident nothing would come of it, but he would put Steve on the task while he talked to the mayor. Dropping his coat and hat on the couch, he dragged himself up the stairs.

So much about this case didn't make sense. He was fairly certain that Walters was responsible for Pam Woodward's death. His conversation with Campbell had fixed the idea in his brain. Accident or murder he didn't know which. The fraud part of the case would be shifted to Bunco in the morning.

Did he also eliminate Kohler? Maybe, but there was the pesky change in the cause of death. And what about Kearns and Brooks? He thought back to the bookmarked art tome and the references that should have been there.

As he drifted off to sleep he was thinking about Lenny's original profile of the killer. He usually didn't buy into all the psych mumbo-jumbo and even Steve though Todd Walters fit the profile, but something felt wrong.


	19. Chapter 19

The sun was just peeking through the window blinds when Steve heard the car horn. He turned his head and groaned when he saw 7 am on the alarm clock. He closed his eyes. The car horn was replace by insistent knocking and ultimately, the sound of his front door opening. Why had he ever given Mike his key?

He kept his eyes closed but heard a caterwaul in the kitchen and assumed Mike was making coffee. Did he even have any coffee? His body was giving him stern warnings about the wisdom of quick movements. He felt almost as sore as the morning after a particularly bad ski wipe out a few years ago. At least then he was having fun and the lovely Gina was making coffee, not an impatient Mike Stone.

After several false starts he made it to the shower, dressed and descended the stairs. There was a steaming cup of coffee, a Danish and a bottle of aspirin waiting on the table. Mike was reading the paper. Steve chased several aspirin with a large swig of coffee. He decided not to sit down, the fewer transitions he put his body through, the less painful the day would be. He leaned against the counter and finished his coffee.

"You know, it's a bad idea to break into a cop's house, you might get shot." He refilled his cup. "By the way, thanks for the coffee."

Mike finally lowered the paper, "It's not B and E if you have the key and you're welcome. Looks like you're moving a little slow this morning."

"You could say that. 7 am, come on Mike."

"Got a call from Charlie this morning. They found something."

"What?"

"He'll tell us the whole story as soon as you get your tail in gear. We have a report to finish and I have to be at city hall by 11."

"Is that the _royal_ we, as in _I type it and you sign it_ we?"

Mike smiled broadly in response. "Rank has its privilege. I'll tell you what, this time I'll type the report and you go talk to the mayor."

"No way, man. He's all yours. That's why you have your own office."

Steve held his hand out for the keys. Mike got up, dropped the paper on the table and walked by his partner without ceding them. "I got it, buddy boy."

00000

Charlie had a wide smile on his face when Mike and Steve entered the lab. Although he looked as worn as Steve felt, he was having a hard time corralling his enthusiasm.

"First off, we found blood on the stairs and on the floor. Looks like he tried to clean it up. We actually had to pull up the treads on a couple of steps, but we found it in several places. Female and consistent with the Woodward girl's blood type. But that's not the clincher. When we dusted the banister, we found her prints and…"

"That just proves she was there, why are you so excited Charlie?" Steve wasn't in the mood for the fully embellished narrative.

"I was just getting to that. Walters must have let her hand drag through the blood when he moved her. I don't know, maybe she was heavier than he thought. When he put her back down, she left a perfect set of prints on the floor in her own blood. I guess he didn't see them. Murder, accident, who knows? But there is no doubt in my mind, she died there.

"Is that it? We were already pretty sure she died there. Did you find anything from the other victims?" Mike was underwhelmed by the news.

"Well, no. We are still going through the prints, there are a lot of them to compare to our victims." Charlie's excitement was slightly tempered by Mike's reaction. "But we did find these." He held up a ring with several keys and a business card. "We found the card in his wallet this morning when the morgue sent over his personal effects."

"And they are?"

"Walters' keys and the address of his studio."

"He had a separate studio?"

"He had a separate studio. I was just getting ready to take a team over. Care to join us gentlemen?"

00000

Steve and Mike beat the lab team to the address on the outer edge of North Beach. The building looked like an old machine shop and was within easy walking distance of both Walters' home and the Art Institute. Mike tried several keys from the ring before he gained access to the dingy brick storefront.

Illumination from a series of skylights flooded the large open bay. Long shelves lined either side of the room with a spacious work table and several easels in the center. An olfactory mélange of mineral spirits, pot, stale tobacco and incense clung to the interior. There was another smell which competed for their attention. Both Mike and Steve easily identified it as chlorine bleach.

"Smells like somebody felt the need to clean up something recently." Mike said hopefully. "I'll look around in here, why don't you take a look around back." He pointed Steve in the direction of the rear exit. Steve left through the back door and Mike began a more in depth investigation of the contents of the room.

Moving from shelf to shelf on the left side of the room, Mike made a cursory search, opening boxes and poking through the contents. While he found a fairly substantial stash of pot and amphetamines, there was no evidence relating to the murders. He crossed over to the other side of the room.

Halfway down the wall was a black curtained opening. He pulled back the drape and reached along the wall looking for a light switch. When he found it, the walk-in closet sized space was bathed in the red glow of a dark room. In the confined space, the smell of bleach was more pervasive. Mike looked down at the floor. Large swaths of the concrete bore the brilliant appearance of having been bleached, even in the crimson gleam of the safe light.

00000

 _Of course there's a dumpster._ Steve thought as his attention was drawn to a large trash receptacle to the right of the door. When he flipped open the lid, he saw several empty bleach bottles. Below the bottles were a number of spattered white drop cloths. Steve groaned as he reached into the dumpster and grabbed the nearest cloth. His goal was to retrieve the contents without making a foray into the filthy container, but things were not going his way this morning and the cloth caught on an unseen obstacle. "Rank has its privilege my ass," he swore to no one as he boosted himself over the side and dropped onto the detritus covering the floor of the dumpster. Mike exited the alley door in time to grab the pile of tarps Steve was hoisting over the side.

"Having fun?"

"Don't even go there." Steve extricated himself from the bin. He crouched down to inspect the cloth Mike had unfurled across the alley. To their surprise, everything they were looking for was contained within the yards of stained fabric.

"You have got to be kidding me? Have you ever seen anything like this?" Steve stood up and brushed off his pants and shoes.

"Seems a little too good to be true, doesn't it."

Bundled within the fabric were two men's wallets and a ladies handbag. Mike pulled out his handkerchief and flipped open one of the wallets. "Gary Kohler."

Steve had mirrored Mike's action with the second wallet, "Ted Brooks and I'm gonna guess that was Anna Kearns' handbag."

Mike had already moved on to the .22. He checked to make sure the safety was on and picked it up by slipping a pen through the trigger guard. "And the star of our show, the murder weapon. Would it be too much to ask that it have our suspect's fingerprints on it?"

Steve laughed and shook his head in disbelief. "We might as well tie it all up with a ribbon and take the rest of the day off. This guy must have really thought we are morons."

"Or…" Mike's thought was cut short by the squeal of the alley door.

Charlie exited the building. "What do you have for me?"

00000

Steve was busy typing when Mike walked into the bullpen. After the morning discoveries, they had returned to Bryant Street. Mike headed to lock-up. Vince Molinaro needed interviewing before he was arraigned on assault charges. Steve returned to his desk to type up a case summary for Mike to take to the Mayor.

Mike sat in the chair across from Steve's desk while the younger man continued to pound on the typewriter. Steve looked over at his partner. "Ok, I've seen the "face" before, what's cooking in that head of yours?"

"What face?"

"You have the Mike Stone, _I'm not so sure about this,_ face. Come on, it's over. You saw the killing floor in the dark room. We found everything else we needed in the alley. I'm sure when Charlie gets done, we will have more than enough evidence to put this to bed. Hell, if Walters were still alive we'd have enough to take him to the grand jury today."

"I just don't know, it was all so convenient."

"Yeah, convenient for you, you weren't the one who had to climb into the dumpster. I think you owe me a new pair of shoes. If you're not 100% sure, what are you going to tell the mayor?"

"That's the 64 dollar question isn't it?"

Steve finished the last line and pulled the paper from the typewriter with a flourish. He handed it to Mike and looked up at the clock. "Well, you better make up your mind pretty soon, it's 10:30."

Mike sat quietly while Steve refilled his coffee and sat back down. "So tell me, if Walters didn't kill the first three, then what, the evidence was planted? What about the bleached floor? And if not Walters, than who? You talked to Molinaro. He's just not smart enough to have pulled this off. Sure we have to double check his alibis but it leaves us fresh out of suspects. I think you're overthinking this one. Go tell the mayor it's over and smile at the press conferences when he tells everyone how brilliant Lt. Mike Stone and what's his name are. Maybe Joe Randolph will finally have something nice to say about the SFPD in his column tomorrow."

"That's another thing that's been bugging me. How did Randolph find out about the first three killings so quickly? He nearly beat us to the scenes."

Steve sighed heavily. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: Thanks to all the lovely folks still reading and reviewing, I really appreciate your support.**_

"So you really think he knows something?" Steve asked between bites of his sandwich.

"I'd bet on it," Mike replied while he continued on the bowl of chili in front of him.

"Do you want me to call him? You have to admit, I have a better chance of getting something out of Randolph than you do after your last little confrontation."

Mike thought back to his encounter with Randolph at the Palace of Fine Arts "I guess it couldn't hurt. Maybe dangle a promise of a few details we haven't released yet in exchange for information." Mike smiled slyly. "But don't tell him anything important. It just might work."

"That's really underhanded, even for you, Lieutenant. I love it." Steve grinned and swatted Mike on the arm."Serves him right for all the trouble he stirred up."

Mike's prediction about the outcome of his meeting with the mayor had been spot on. Despite his strenuous objections and incomplete lab results, the mayor, with Rudy and the Commissioner's blessings, had declared the late Todd Walters the Da Vinci Killer. The news was released to the press, amid much back slapping and hoopla. Reporters had swamped Steve and Mike's phones all Monday afternoon. Even though two days had passed, the attention had intensified to the point where Mike had quit answering the phone. Curiously absent amongst the callers was Joe Randolph.

Neither detective was happy with the quick denouement of the case, but without evidence or leads to contradict the find at the studio, there wasn't much they could do about it _officially._ Fortunately, they hadn't caught another case as yet and were still poking around on the down low, awaiting the final report from Charlie in the Crime Lab.

"If I can't hook up with Randolph this afternoon, it's going to have to wait until later tomorrow. I promised Lizzy I'd go with her to Pam's funeral. With the case officially wrapped, her body had been released to her parents.

"That's good, buddy boy. She's been a real trooper through all of this. Is she still staying with her friend or has she moved back into her apartment?"

Steve was a little confused. He seemed to recall telling Mike what happened Sunday night, but on second though realized he had been so tired, he didn't have a clue what they had talked about. "No, I took her to the apartment Sunday night. When I told her about Walters, she decided she wanted to go home. Can't say as I blame her. Funny thing, the friend was kind of hacked off about the change of plans. Weird."

00000

When they got back to the office, Mike had a message from Charlie. The final report was ready. Steve put in a call to _The Chronicle_ before they went down to the lab.

As opposed to when they had come down a few days previous, Charlie seemed less than thrilled with the report he had in his hand.

"Do you want the good news or bad news?"

"Lay it on us, Charlie, what do you have?" Steve was hopeful his lack of enthusiasm didn't present a problem in the prematurely shelved case.

"Well, the good news is that Walters' prints are on the wallets and pocketbook. We have blood trace on the floor of the darkroom, despite the copious amount of bleach used in the attempted cleanup. We also found blood on the drop cloths. Two male, two female, consistent with the blood types for all four victims. Ballistics proved the .22 you found was the murder weapon of the first three victims." Charlie paused.

"But?" Mike knew there was a but. The feeling in his stomach was the same as being at the top of a roller coaster, the nanosecond before it descends.

"But, we found another set of prints in blood on the drop cloth. Didn't belong to any of the victims, but they matched one of the sets we found in the school van. Honestly the prints were what took so long. We found so many on the van, it took us a while to process them all."

"What about the gun? Any prints on it?" Mike interrupted before Charlie could continue.

"We might have a partial on the gun, but it's inconclusive, almost like the gun had been wiped."

"Walters' prints weren't on the gun?" Mike was verifying his trepidation.

"Not that we could find, like I said, it looked like it had been wiped."

Steve looked at Mike. "An accomplice?"

"Or a frame. This is exactly what I was afraid of when I went to city hall. Now the question is who."

"And why." Steve added. Walters' motive was money. Did their new unknown suspect have a different agenda, or was it still all about the cash. His meeting with Randolph suddenly seemed a whole lot more important.

Mike and Steve walked back up to the bull pen. "I guess I'm going to have to break the news to Rudy. What do you have on tap this afternoon?"

"I'm hoping to get a call back from Randolph. When we meet, what should I offer up to him?"

00000

Lizzy sat at the counter of the deli, playing with a sandwich that she was supposed to be eating. She could hear Nonna banging around in the back room and was glad the older woman had found something to do. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now. This wasn't her usual routine for lunch on a school day, but she needed to get away from the institute and all the questions and condolences for at least a half hour. Tomorrow was a day off from school for her, the Institute had yet to replace Todd Walters. The day wasn't going to be easy, she knew Pam's funeral would be an ordeal. The only comfort was Steve had said he would accompany her.

The chimes on the door sounded. Nonna came from the back room and babbled in ear-splitting rapid-fire Italian at the sight of Father Lombardi and Vince entering the shop. Nonna wrapped her arms around her son and thanked Father Tony profusely, insisting they both sit down for lunch. Leave it to an older Italian woman; the only possible response to life, whether the situation was good, bad or somewhere in between was to feed people.

As Nonna made lunch, Father Tony tried to explain about bail and the upcoming hearing. Lizzy excused herself. She really didn't want to hang around when Vince was in the room, particularly after the drama with Steve and Vince's subsequent arrest. His time in lock-up didn't seem to have adjusted his behavior at all. He sneered, then mouthed a rude comment in her direction as she walked out the door. His mother and the priest were too busy to notice.

It was a cold, grey day in San Francisco and it perfectly matched her mood. She had spent a long time on the phone the past few evenings. Pam's parents had gotten back in town on Monday and for reasons that escaped her, they needed her. They had always been pretty hands off with Pam. Lizzy had only met them a few times and the relationship she observed was strained and distant at best. Now that Pam was gone however, Lizzy was the one piece of Pam's life they could still hold onto.

She walked up the hill towards the Institute and was not surprised to see Jeff waiting at the corner. He had been almost smothering in his attention to Lizzy since she went back to school on Monday. He was a great guy and all, but she had spent the morning trying to ditch him. He had really given her a hard time about not staying with him and now was being a pain in the ass about the funeral.

"Where were you, I thought we were going to grab some lunch?"

"I needed to check on Nonna. Since Vince was arrested, well, she's needed a little more TLC." It was more of an exaggeration than a lie. She just needed to breathe.

"I get that. Have you decided what you're doing about the funeral?"

"Yeah, Steve's gonna pick me up about 8:30 and we'll head to Church and then the cemetery." Lizzy's thoughts wandered. _Pam'd be having a cow about the church funeral._ A sad smile crossed her face.

Jeff cleared his throat to get her attention. "Earth to Lizzy, I'd be happy to take you. My brother left his car for me."

"No, it's really ok."

"I tell you what, how about we go out and get something to eat after and then I'll bring you home. I know it's going to be rough for you."

"Thanks, but if it's all the same to you, I think I want to be alone. I really need to get my head together and figure out some things. I'm sorry. I would probably be terrible company anyhow."

"You could never be bad company for me." He brushed a dark curl from her face, tucked it behind her ear and looked into her eyes. "I hope you know that by now."

Lizzy shivered. She wasn't so sure it was from the chill in the air.

00000

Steve walked into the dimly lit bar. It wasn't his idea to meet Joe Randolph in an out of the way cocktail lounge, but sometimes it was better to meet up on the opposition's home turf. He coughed from the oppressive cigarette smoke and sat down at the bar, ordering a ginger ale even though it was way past 6 pm. He finished the first soda and ordered a second.

He was just about to give up after an hour of waiting and small talk with the barmaid when the reporter strolled through the door. Randolph motioned to the woman behind the bar and walked over to a booth on the other side of the room. Steve picked up his glass and followed him, dropping onto the bench on the opposite side of the table. The barmaid slid a double scotch on the rock onto the table, smiled at Steve and returned to the bar without a word.

"It's not over, is it?" Randolph said flatly after drinking deeply from his glass.

"And how would you know that?"

"You called me, how about you go first."

Steve sat silently and teased the ice in his glass with a swizzle stick. He was prepared to wait.

Randolph finished his drink and nodded to the bartender for another round. The silence was making Steve a little antsy, but he tried to keep his features neutral. He finally spoke.

"How is it that you were on the Da Vinci scenes so quickly, Mr. Randolph? That is, until the last one on Nob Hill."

"Why should I tell you? What's in it for me?"

Steve and Mike had worked out a game plan after he'd received the call about the meet and knew exactly how much he could reveal. The trick was to get as much as possible in return. He really wished his partner had been the one to deal with Randolph. He was so much better at this. But after their contentious interaction a week ago, the game was in Steve's hands. It was time to bait the hook.

"We know where and how Pam Woodward died," Steve paused dramatically, "and why."

Randolph took out his notebook and waited. And so did Steve. The barmaid brought over another drink for the reporter.

"You know, eventually I will get all this information from my regular sources."

"But will it still be front page worthy when you get it?"

"Touché, Inspector Keller."

"So, Joe, who tipped you off?" Steve could feel a trickle of sweat running down his back as he waited for a reply. He shouldn't have been this nervous, but his instincts told him that what he did in the next few minutes could make all the difference in unraveling this mystery.


	21. Chapter 21

When Randolph didn't respond, Steve stood, as if to leave. The game of chicken was Mike's idea. With as arrogant as the reporter was, Steve thought he was pressing his luck, pretending to walk away. To his surprise, he finally saw a crack in his opponent's façade.

"What's the rush, sit down and have another drink."

Steve walked over to the bar and got Randolph a refill. He came back and sat down. When he did, there was single sheet of folded typing paper on the table. He went to unfold it and Randolph slapped his hand on top, attracting the attention of the other patrons of the bar.

"Not yet, I need a little something from you." Randolph's voice was a whisper.

"Pam Woodward died from a fall down the steps, Todd Walters' steps."

"Intentional?"

Steve shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, "Let me see what's on the paper."

Randolph removed his hand. Steve unfolded the paper carefully by one corner and laid it flat on the table. Neatly typed in the center was a cryptic message of eight words.

 _ **Powell Line Roundabout. A gift for my love.**_

The first thought that went through his head was of Lenny's original profile. "When did you get this?"

"It was delivered to my house the night of the first murder. I wasn't going to follow up on it in the middle of the night, but I figured, what did I have to lose but a few hours sleep."

"You've been in contact with the killer the whole time?" Steve was incredulous. "Why didn't you come forward with this?"

Randolph laughed, "Are you really that young and naïve? It was the scoop of the year."

"Are you really that stupid and self-serving? Withholding evidence is a crime, Mr. Randolph. There could be trace on the paper. It might have helped us catch this person before they killed again."

The reporter regained his bravado as he reached over to retrieve the paper, Steve was faster and pocketed the document.

"Hey…"

"Evidence, Mr. Randolph."

"You'll never see the others."

"That may be, but I have what I need and you'll have a subpoena by noon tomorrow. I think we're done."

"What about the rest of the information? You said you would talk."

"Oh, we will talk, but it will be on the record and at Bryant Street. And I believe I told you I knew things, not that I would tell you about them."

"You're gonna regret this, Keller. I will roast you alive in the paper."

"I think that'll be tough from San Quentin." Steve got up and walked out of the bar with a satisfied smile on his face. He couldn't quite figure out why Randolph had incriminated himself, but he really didn't care.

00000

Steve drove back to Bryant Street even though it was after 8 pm. When he got out of the car, he wasn't surprised to see the light on in Mike's office. He dropped the letter off at the lab and took the stairs up to the bull pen.

Mike saw Steve come in and assumed by the smile on his face his trip to the bar had been a success.

"You really gotta tell me where you keep the crystal ball. How did you know?" Steve sat heavily in the chair across from Mike's desk.

"The killer contacted him?"

"Yep, just like you thought. Sent him timely little messages directing him to the bodies." Steve handed Mike a scrap of paper with the eight words copied in his own untidy scrawl.

He smiled and read the note. "Did you get a hold of the originals?"

"Just the first one. I already took it down to the lab. It's going to take at least 24 hours for prints to develop after the lab soaks the paper in ninhydrin, if there are even any on there. I told Randolph to expect us to come calling for the balance of the notes and an invitation to a little tete-a-tete here at Bryant Street."

Mike stood up and slapped Steve on the shoulder. "You did good, buddy boy."

"Thanks, I think. He threatened to eviscerate me on the front page. The thing I can't figure out is why he would be willing to provide such self-damning evidence."

"Who knows, maybe he feels guilty or maybe he knows more than he's letting onto and feels vulnerable. We can figure that out once we wrap this up."

They sat several moments in silence. Mike spoke first. "So how do you think this all fits together? From the note, I have to assume that Lenny's take on the first three kills was on point. Was Walters' merely capitalizing on Kohler's death? And what about Pam? Was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Steve picked up the narrative. "That doesn't explain the tarps and the evidence inside them at Walters' studio or the blood and bleach in the dark room. Could it be two people working together with different end games? Could our mystery man…"

"Or woman."

"Or woman," Steve smirked, "have dumped the evidence after Walters died to cover his or her tracks?"

Mike took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Honestly, I don't think we are going to know that until we catch him."

"Or her."

It was Mike's turn to smirk. "Or her. In the meantime, I think we have to start looking at Lizzy and people around her again. We might even want to keep eyes on her until we catch the _person_." Mike was careful to keep his term gender neutral. "She is still the only common denominator. But not tonight." Mike walked over and grabbed his coat and hat. "Let's get out of here."

00000

Lizzy walked home after class ended at 4:15. She stopped at her mailbox and opened the compartment, shoving the envelopes in her purse before walking up the stairs. She unlocked the door and the security hasp the cops had attached to it. She really needed to get a locksmith and take care of the jury-rigged security arrangement, but honestly didn't see the point. More than likely she was going to have to move at the end of the month. That wouldn't be a pleasant discussion to have with Nonna.

She dropped her bags and locked the door, glad to be alone in a space she could call her own, no matter how temporary the arrangement. Before the phone had a chance to disturb her solitude, she took it off the hook and buried it under a couch cushion.

The refrigerator called her name and she drifted over and opened the door, staring into the cool glowing void. Looked like it was going to be another lean night. She slammed it shut in disgust and searched the cupboards, turning up a can of tomato soup and some stale saltines. It would have to do. She opened the cabinet over the fridge to see what was left of Pam's liquor stash. The only thing that looked halfway appealing was a bottle of tequila left over from Cinco de Mayo a semester ago.

Not bothering with a glass, Lizzy took a swig directly from the bottle. A little numbness would go a long way to helping her get through tonight. She dumped the soup in a saucepan and munched on the mealy crackers while it warmed on the stove, washing them down with hits of the pungent Mexican spirit. When the soup was finally hot enough to consume, she was already comfortably buzzed.

Lizzy looked at the bottle. She knew drinking any more at this point would be a mistake, but she took a final swig before capping the bottle and setting it on the counter. Maybe she would actually get some sleep tonight. Flopping down on the couch she grabbed her purse and retrieved the mail, dropping most of it directly in the trash. A postcard from Kenya, addressed to her late roommate, stopped her short. It was from Pam's parents and had the same impersonal tone she had observed when she met them.

 _What the hell,_ she thought to herself as she tore the card up into small pieced and dumped it on the coffee table. The scrap of paper with Steve's home phone number was sitting next to the pile of brightly colored paper shards. She picked it up and fingered the card, toying with the idea of calling the charming detective.

It was the last the thought Lizzy had until she awoke several hours later to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

00000

Steve stopped by his desk and grabbed his notebook and the keys to the LTD.

"You drive Mike, I'm gonna need my car in the morning for the funeral."

He dropped the keys in Mike hand and led the way out to the lot.

They drove home in silence. Steve reminded Mike he wouldn't be in until noon or better the next day as he made his goodbye. Climbing the steps to his apartment, Mike's words about focusing on Lizzy weighed on his mind. He looked at the clock, it was just about nine pm. He tossed his jacket on the couch and picked up the phone, flipping through the pages of his notebook until he found the number.

He dialed multiple times over the next hour, finally resorting to calling the phone company. The news that the phone was more than likely off the hook did not rest well with him. He picked up his keys and jacket and jogged down to his car. He would rather be embarrassed by an unnecessary visit than live with a lifetime of regret.

00000

The young man sat in his car. Although the evening was chilly, he didn't feel the effects of the weather. It was finally his time, their time. He'd overcome all the obstacles. The people who had hurt or distracted her were gone, presented as tokens of love for his Mona Lisa. Without all the human clutter in her life, she would finally love him for who and what he really was, her destiny.

Serendipity had even played its part in this moment. Lizzy's selfish, tramp of a roommate eliminated by that idiot Walters and Walters himself dead because of his own stupid panic when the cops turned up. It was all so easy when you were smarter than the rest of the sheep inhabiting San Francisco, including the police.

Fooling Walters had been a no brainer. After a few passionate, drug filled encounters, it was easy to convince Todd that getting rid of Kohler, Kearns and Brooks was the key to his financial future. After a particularly lusty evening and several bottles of wine, they laughed about posing the bodies like works of art and generated an extensive list of perfect locations. It was too bad they would go unused.

Enticing the victims to the studio was effortless. The promise of a bigger paycheck, a pre-show meeting and a fat modeling commission was all it took to lure them to Todd's dingy workspace. He took out his keys and removed the one to the studio from his ring. Rolling down the window, he pitched it toward the storm drain across the street. The key bounced once and slid through the grate. Easy. Dumping the evidence in the alley after Todd's death insured that the police wouldn't look any further.

He smiled, the phantom rush of firing the .22 into the heads of his victims giving him chills. He'd done it carefully to avoid damaging the human media for their works of art. It was Walters' idea. He might have been a total waste of life, but he sure knew his anatomy. He reveled in the perfection of the public spectacles he and Todd created.

Walters always thought it was about the money, and he'd lost it when Pam wouldn't turn over the pictures and Campbell threatened to expose him as a fraud. But it all worked out in the end. Two less complications in Lizzy's life. The egotistical art teacher never suspected the real purpose of the kills and neither did the ass from the newspaper. He was just another tool, used to announce the gifts he left for his lady love. The plot would have meant nothing if the whole city wasn't aware of the depth of his devotion.

But the plan had gone sideways. After embracing the tease in the first note, Joe Randolph had fallen down on the job. He'd acted on the information for his own selfish benefit but never shared the contents of the subsequent letters. Even a phone call hadn't remedied the problem, but he had a special plan to rectify that situation.

He was just about to make his grand entrance when a Porsche pulled up in front of the apartment. The handsome cop who'd made a nuisance of himself for the past week jumped out and ran up the stairs.

This would not work at all.


	22. Chapter 22

Mike entered the office of Gerry O'Brien at 8 am. After a quick call by the Assistant DA's secretary, he was assured Gerry would arrive presently. A photocopy of the letter Steve had liberated from Joe Randolph the previous evening was resting in a folder on his lap. When he got it from the lab, they were still at least 12 hours from fingerprints.

He closed his eyes and thought about the case. Something was nagging at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. They were just about out of options. He and Steve were reasonably sure the evidence for the murders was planted in the alley after right around the time of Walters' death. The only other person they suspected, Vince Molinaro, was a guest of the city at the time. If a link couldn't be discovered through Joe Randolph, they were fresh out of suspects.

The discussion last night with Steve had asked more questions than it answered. Coconspirators or parallel perpetrators, who knew. Steve planned to bring Lizzy back to Bryant Street after the funeral. Maybe she could come up with someone, anyone, who had a more than casual interest in her. It was a long shot. Most of the time, the object of obsession was the last to know.

Mike recalled meeting one of her friends on the apartment stairs, although he didn't remembers the young man's name. He wondered if it was the same friend who'd originally planned to put her up. Maybe, if he knew Lizzy well enough to offer her a room, he'd have noticed someone paying a little too much attention to her. He hoped Steve knew the kids name. _I must really be desperate, if I'm considering dragging unnamed friends in for inform_ ation.

Gerry came through the door as promised and was surprised to see Mike cooling his heels in the outer office.

"This is a surprise, Mike. What can I do for you?"

"Morning, Gerry. I just need a moment of your time. The Da Vinci Case." Mike hated using the nickname from the paper but, in this instance, it saved a lot of explanation.

"I thought that was a done deal? "

Mike sighed heavily. "The mayor's announcement may have been a little premature. We found some inconsistencies in the evidence found at the studio. We think we have either an accomplice or a separate killer."

"Typical, leave it to politicians to muck up a case for the sake of headlines."

"Couldn't agree more."

They walked into the office. Mike took out the photocopy and laid it on Gerry's desk.

"And this is?"

"A note from the killer to Joe Randolph from _The Chronicle."_

Gerry looked it over. "It's not much. Are you sure it's not from Todd Walters?"

"Pretty sure. Steve had a little chat with Randolph last night. He indicated he got letters for the first three murders. It was how he turned up at the scenes so quickly. But not on Woodward, the one we know died at Walters' place."

"What do you need?"

"A subpoena. Randolph only turned over the one letter, we really need to see the other two."

"It's pretty damning evidence. Randolph is looking at accessory after the fact or, at the very least, withhold evidence. Why would he turn it over in the first place?" Mike gave the assistant DA a vague smile. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"No, probably not. But the point is, we need to see the content of the other letters."

O'Brien signed off on the subpoena. Mike left the office with documents in hand and a determined look on his face. Now it was his turn to interview Joe Randolph.

00000

Steve woke up slightly disoriented when the telephone rang. He stood up and the knitted afghan he'd used to chase the evening chill dropped to the floor. It nearly tripping him as he searched for the phone in the darkened apartment. He finally caught sight of it on the floor, next to the coffee table, and reached over to answer.

When he picked up the receiver and said hello, no one responded. He was sure someone was on the line. After a heartbeat, he heard a telltale click on the other end. The phantom phone call reinforced his decision to check up on Lizzy the previous evening. Roused by the phone, the young woman ambled out of the bedroom, looking mussed and confused.

After several minutes of pounding had received no response at Lizzy's door last night, Steve had muscled it open and found her on the couch, not quite coherent. The bottle on the counter told him all he needed to know. He'd spent the next few hours nursing her through the tequila's effort to exit her stomach.

When she finally stopped heaving, Steve cleaned her up and poured her into bed. After tidying the bathroom, he returned to the living room and found the phone under the cushion. It made him snicker as he felt a small bit of empathy for Mike. He had disabled his phone in a similar manner on many evenings, to his partner's consternation. Unable to secure the front door properly after his impromptu entry, he put a chair under the doorknob, found a blanket and crashed on the couch.

"Who the hell is calling at 6:30 in the morning?" Lizzy asked as she shuffled over to the kitchen counter, pushing a tangled mass of curls out of her eyes. She winced as she flipped on the lights. Digging in the drawer, she came up with a bottle of aspirin.

"Apparently nobody. Are you going to be able to keep those down?"

"No choice. My head is gonna to fall off if I don't. I can't believe I did this to myself." She picked up the tequila bottle, gagged slightly at the smell and dropped it in the trash. "Never. Drinking. Again."

Steve smiled sympathetically, "Sure, that's what we all say."

Lizzy looked at the floor, "I sorry about last night, I feel like an idiot." She downed a glass of water and walked over to the couch, kicking the afghan out of the way and dropping onto the cushioned seat.

"Look, it's not the first time I've had to hold someone's hair back after a few too many, probably won't be the last."

"Yeah but…" She suddenly stopped, "Hey, what are you doing here and uh, how did you get in?" Lizzy looked at the chair under the doorknob.

Steve explained the chain of events from the previous evening. Even more embarrassed, Lizzy looked away from him.

"What time do we have to be at the church?" Steve asked.

"Oh crap, the funeral, how am I going to handle the funeral with a hangover?"

"I'll be there with you. After all you've been through, you can do this. What time?"

"Service is at 9:30, Pam's parents wanted me there at 9:00."

"Then you better hit the shower. We still need to swing by my place so I can change." Steve put out his hand and pulled Lizzy off the couch, turning her toward the bathroom. "Get a move on, it'll make you feel better." After she left the living room, Steve put the kettle on and searched for some tea. He fixed two cups, adding a heaping measure of sugar to the one earmarked for the young college student.

Lizzy felt a physical improvement after a lengthy shower. Unfortunately as she became more coherent, she remembered what happened after Steve's arrival and her mortification grew. How was she even going to look him in the eye after last night's little performance?

Feeling like she was slogging through mud, Lizzy managed to dress and fix her hair. She looked in the mirror, throwing her hands up in disgust at the pale reflection peering back. Steve was hanging up the phone when she walked into the living room.

"Locksmith," He answered sheepishly, before she asked. He pushed the mug of tea into her hand. "I kinda made a mess out of your door last night when you didn't answer. They will be here in an hour. We can stop downstairs and let Mrs. Molinaro know on our way out. Is she going to the funeral?"

Lizzy hadn't even thought about it. She took a sip from the mug. "I guess so. Wait, I can't afford the locksmith." She looked at the mug with distain, "Yuck, are you trying to kill me."

"I know it's sweet. Drink up, doctor's orders." She rolled her eyes as he drain his mug, "And don't sweat the bill. We should be able to get the city or your landlord's insurance to pony up for it. Police officer in the execution of his duty. You dig?"

That made her smile a little. She took another sip of tea, cringing at the syrupy sweetness. "Tell me one thing Steve Keller," Lizzy said as she grabbed her purse. "What did I do to deserve such a good friend?"

Steve didn't answer, just smiled as he opened the door for her.

After stopping in at the deli, they drove to Steve's apartment. He quickly showered and changed into what Mike called his "funeral suit." Dark qrey with a white shirt and the most somber tie he could find in the closet. Not his favorite look, but the occasion demanded it.

Lizzy was on the couch nursing a 7-Up she'd picked up at the deli. "You clean up nice," she said as he came down the stairs. She'd only seen him in jean and his _cop clothes_ before now _._ The modern cut dark suit and tie made his good looks even more appealing. "Wish I could say the same."

He slipped his .38 into its holster and put his shield in his pocket. "Oh stop it, you look fine." He lied, hoping she didn't feel as rocky as she looked. "Are you ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." They left Union Street bound for Grace Cathedral, within sight of where Pam had been displayed in the Fountain of the Turtles. With the bright morning light threatening to incapacitate her, Lizzy dug into her purse to find sunglasses. She noticed a letter. Apparently she'd missed it going through the mail yesterday. She left it where it was after finding her shades and shoved the purse under the seat. She was too wobbly to even think about hauling the weighty bag into church. It could wait until later.

Steve parked the Porsche. He averted his sight from the fountain, shivering at the thought of Pam's cold dead eyes. He came around and opened the door for Lizzy, helping her up to her feet. She swayed a little and he put his hands on her waste to steady her. She leaned her forearms on the lapels of his jacket and rested her head on his shoulder. When she was more stable, he took her hand and they walked up the long stairs together.

00000

He could barely contain his rage when he saw Lizzy in the arms of another man. From his vantage point in the park, he could see them, the way she touched him and held his hand. He turned around in disgust and caught sight of the fountain where he'd stage his Venus and smiled. Breathing deeply, he willed himself calm. With all he had already accomplished, he could handle this. After all, he was so much smarter than that cop.

When he saw the Porsche pull up last night, he was initially concerned. After further thought, he'd assumed Lizzy had called him after she read the letter, to tell him he was not needed anymore. Maybe he came to plead with her, he didn't know or care. He went home and waited for her response to his missive, the call never came. When he phoned her this morning, to arrange a ride to the funeral and their future together, _Steve_ answered. He'd been there all night.

Maybe he had misjudged Lizzy. Could it be that she was just another stupid cow, not his Mona Lisa? No, that wasn't right, even the old Italian woman in the deli recognized her for what she was, a masterpiece. It was him. The older, more experienced man had taken advantage of her; played the white knight in her moment of need. That had to be the reason. He had something very special in mind for this one.

It would be more difficult without Walters help, perhaps take a little more time, there were arrangements to make. He needed to find a new place to fabricate his creation. But surely she would help him. She had to.

He left his perch in the park after Lizzy and the interloper climbed the stairs, disappearing through the massive front doors of the Cathedral. It took him several minutes but, before he entered the church, his plan was in motion.


	23. Chapter 23

The church was nearly empty when they arrived at 9:00. Lizzy slid her sunglasses off when she entered the cavernous space, which was dimly colored by light filtered through stained glass windows. Pam's parents were at the front of the church, speaking with a priest when they caught sight of her. They motioned for the young woman to come forward.

Lizzy and Steve walked toward the sanctuary, approaching the coffin. It was positioned perpendicular to the altar, in the forward section of the nave. A plain white linen cloth draped the casket, atop which sat a bouquet of white Madonna lilies. The oppressive scent of the flowers was nauseating even to Steve. He couldn't imagine how the smell would affect Lizzy in her current condition. He felt her steps falter and she swallowed hard, tightening her grip on his hand.

"Please don't let go," Lizzy whispered and tried to stop their forward progress.

"I got you," Steve squeezed her hand in reply, urging her to keep moving.

Pam's parents implored Lizzy to speak at the service. She looked at Steve with panic in her eyes.

"Don't do anything you're not comfortable with." He whispered in her ear.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just don't think I can do it. Mr and Mrs. Woodward, I loved Pam like a sister and I'm going to miss her every day, but no, please, no." Pam's parent graciously accepted her decision. Steve put his arm around her shoulder, led her a safe distance from the casket and into a pew.

The young man watched the end of the scene play out from the ebony pall of the side aisle. He shut his eyes and took deep breaths to keep his fury in check. It wouldn't be much longer. After Lizzy was seated, he broke from the shadows and slid into the pew, coming to a stop at her side. She turned and gave him a hug, silently thanking him for his presence. Jeff smiled, the extended physical contact renewing his faith in her.

The church began to fill up in anticipation of the service. Lizzy occasionally acknowledged someone she knew, but for the most part sat with her eyes closed, wishing to be anywhere but here. _Just breath_ she thought. At precisely 9:30, the Mass began. It was all a blur as she stood, kneeled and sat on cue. During the Catholic ritual, she refused to release Steve's hand. It was the life support she needed to get through the oppressive rite of the dead. Jeff noticed.

After what seem like an eternity, the final strains of the organ marked the end of the service. Mourners followed the coffin and exited the Cathedral. Those continuing on to the cemetery made for their cars. Lizzy instinctively replace her sunglasses, as the late morning light assaulted her eyes. When they walked down the stairs, Jeff trailed several steps behind, waiting for his prearranged surprise.

Steve opened the passenger side door for Lizzy, walked around the rear of the car and slid behind the wheel. Despite multiple attempts, the Porsche refused to answer the call to duty. Steve let out a frustrated huff while exiting the vehicle, intent on checking the car for simple mechanical problems. Jeff descended the final few stairs.

"Won't start, huh?" I've heard these foreign jobs can be finicky." Steve's answer was a non-committal grunt. He was reaching for the hood when Jeff continued with a warm smile. "Instead of getting all greasy, why don't you two come with me? I'll drop you back after the ceremony."

Steve looked up to see the funeral procession departing. He shrugged his shoulders and opened Lizzy's door. She smiled her thanks at Jeff as they walked down the row to a late model blue Grand Torino.

"Thanks, man." Steve shook Jeff's hand before closing the passenger door behind Lizzy and sliding into the back seat.

00000

Mike had the distinct feeling of being behind enemy lines when he entered the offices of _The San Francisco Chronicle._ His relationship with most of the fourth estate was generally neutral. They neither helped nor hindered his work, but Joe Randolph was an exception. The receptionist looked at him sideways when he asked for the reporter.

The Lieutenant was a well-known figure at the city desk. As he proceeded through the large room, a buzz of conversation trailed him to the far corner, anticipating a confrontation. Joe Randolph hung up the phone and greeted Mike with ersatz courtesy.

"What a surprise Lt. Stone, to what do I owe this honor."

"You know why I'm here." Mike produced the subpoena. "I need the other two letters."

"I had no idea the SFPD used _Lieutenants_ to deliver subpoenas, I'm flattered."

"Cut the crap, Randolph. Where are the letters?"

The reporter picked up the document and scrutinized it. "You know, I should really get the suits upstairs to check this. Make sure it's all legal. I do have the right to protect my sources. Plus, you have no proof that these _alleged_ letters even exist."

"Mr. Randolph, your desire to protect your sources is admirable." Mike echoed Randolph's faux nobility. "As a police officer, I understand the need for confidential informants, however, your actions may have already cost three people their lives. I have, and the DA agrees, probable cause from your conversation with Inspector Keller, that they exist. Before anybody else dies, I suggest you turn them over. It's a court order and I'm _sure_ you know the judge can hold you in contempt if you don't comply."

Randolph increased his volume, enhancing the interest of his coworkers. "What about the Fifth Amendment? You're a smart man, I'm _sure_ you knows my rights as well as I do."

Mike was getting irritated at Randolph's little game. Nothing made him angrier than uncooperative witnesses using the constitution as a shield.

"That ship has sailed. You've already incriminated yourself turning over the first letter. Do yourself a favor and just give me the rest. If not, I'll go right back to the judge and get a bench warrant. Would you rather finish this downtown after being hauled in by a couple of uniforms?"

"Makes for a better story, don't you think? I can see the headlines, " _Hard-Hitting Chronicle Reporter Jailed for Refusing to Reveal Sources_. We'll be able to milk that for weeks." Randolph ratcheted up the volume once again.

Not wanting to get caught up in a no-win game played out on the front page, Mike tried a different tactic. "Why did you even meet with Keller if you weren't willing to go all the way? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm certainly not afraid of you, or your heavy-handed tactics." The reporter was practically shouting.

Mike paused as an idea solidified in his head. He had a feeling this conversation was an elaborate piece of performance art, played out in front Randolph's colleagues, to protect his reputation. He lowered his voice, "How about if we take this outside."

Randolph took the lifeline Mike tossed him, "Hey fellas, if I'm not back in ten minutes, make sure you get a camera up here." He picked up his notebook and raincoat and exited the room. Mike followed him out the door and onto the elevator.

They exited the building on Mission Street, walking a block in silence before Mike spoke. "Now that you've finished your song and dance, how about you give me what I need."

Mike drove back to Bryant Street in stunned silence. It was all there, just like Lenny had predicted. A diatribe penned by, what had Bernie and Lenny called him, oh yeah, _a nut job_. He also knew why Randolph had come forward. The last letter and subsequent phone calls to the reporter were clearly a threat. Randolph had used the information for his own gain, but the letter's sender felt cheated. The declaration of his love had not been included in the newspaper accounts. The killer held Joe Randolph personally responsible when his message was not delivered.

After getting copies and dropping the evidence at the lab, he went to his office. It was nearly noon. As much as he pestered Charlie, the lab still needed more time on the prints. He had a phone call into O'Brien about getting a tap and a trace on Randolph's home line. Randolph had originally protested, but with criminal charges on the table, he quickly acquiesced. Mike was also waiting for Lenny to turn up and review the newest evidence.

Steve would be arriving with Lizzy shortly and Mike was anxious to speak with her after seeing the letters. The cemetery in Colma was about 20 minutes outside of town, so he didn't expect them much before one, but Mike was out of options. With nothing left to check, he went over to Steve's desk, looking for his notebook. He flipped through the case notes until he found the name and address of Lizzy's friend, Jeff. _That was the name_ , He snapped his fingers. The one he met on the stairs. He copied the information out of the notebook and returned to his desk, picking up the receiver.

Lenny walked into the office while Mike was listening to a busy signal. He hung up the phone.

"What do you need Lieutenant? I thought the Da Vinci Case was solved."

"Yeah, according to the mayor. Me, I'm not so sure." Mike pulled the copies of the letters out of a folder and handed them to Lenny, who sat down in Steve's usual chair and read them carefully. He laid them back on the desk.

"You know, I doubted my profiling skills when I saw the press conference, but now, not so much. You sure these aren't from Walters?"

"The paper never got one for Woodward, what do you think?"

"I think you're right. The person who wrote these wouldn't have missed the opportunity to advertise his latest gift. Where does that leave you?"

"Ground zero. I'm waiting for Steve to come back in with the Grisko girl. He took her to the roommate's funeral."

"Has she seen these yet?"

"No. Why?"

"That's a whole lot of guilt and fear you are going to lay on her, particularly after going to a funeral." Mike started to protest. Lenny held up his hands in mock surrender and continued. "I know, I know, none of this is her fault, but I can't begin to tell you how she will take it. Is there any other way?"

"I don't see how, we haven't even got a suspect at this point. Do you think she will have any idea who it is?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But Mike, you need to tread gently."

Mike paused before he spoke again. "Then answer me this. Is it possible one of her friends might have picked up vibes from somebody around her?"

"Vibes?" Lenny laughed, "Mike you are spending way too much time with your young partner."

Mike ignored the jibe. "What do you think?"

"It's possible, if they were reasonably perceptive and were asked the right questions."

"How'd you like to go on a little field trip and ask the right question?"

00000

Lenny followed Mike up the narrow staircase. While he wasn't keen on field work, Mike had promised him lunch if he tagged along. The apartment was on the second floor of an old house at 495 Bay Street, just around the block from Lizzy and Pam's apartment. One of the bulbs on the landing light fixture was out, leaving the top of the stairs in perpetual twilight. Mike avoided the paper supermarket sack filled with trash, which leaned against the wall, Lenny was not nearly so observant.

Fortunately for the doctor, it seemed to be mostly office waste and newspapers. He carefully scooped up the trash and replaced it in the bag. The last item he retrieved was a dark, flat spool. Lenny cursed as it transferred black smudges to his hand.

"Nice Language, Doc."

Lenny rolled his eyes when he replied, "You know, I once read a novel where they caught the kidnapper by reading the impression of the ransom note on a discarded typewriter ribbon. He dramatically unfurled the ribbon and held it up to the light while Mike laughed and walked on to the apartment.

He was pounding on Jeff Powers' door when Lenny caught his attention.

"Uh, Mike, you might want to come look at this."


	24. Chapter 24

Mike stopped knocking and turned toward the doctor. "What?"

Lenny had been busy, trying to clean the ink smudges from his hand with the discarded newspapers in the sack. When Mike looked over, he had parts of several front pages spread on the floor and was emptying the bag, searching for more folios. "Well, the typewriter ribbon…"

Mike rolled his eyes, "Lenny, not the old typewriter ribbon bit. This isn't a _Miss Marple_ story."

"That's not why I got your attention, look at this." Mike walked back over to the landing. "Articles have been clipped from all of these. I remember reading the stories. Unless I miss my guess, they were all Da Vinci related."

"Are you sure?"

"Not 100 percent, but it would be easy enough to check."

"OK, say you're right. You're the doc, what does that mean?"

"At the very least, he had more than a passing interest in the case. I'm assuming nobody's home?"

"Correct."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Good question, let's gather up this stuff and see what we can find out."

Lenny folded the papers and laid them on top of the bag. He picked it up and followed Mike down the stairs.

Mike stopped at apartment 1A and gently rapped on the door.

"Was that you making all that noise up there? You trying to wake the dead? Couldn't even hear my stories. I was getting ready to call the cops."

Mike flashed his shield. The housecoat clad woman softened her tone.

"If you're looking for Jeff, he isn't here. He blew out of here about 8:15. Even left his trash on the landing. I'll have to get on him when he gets back. He was all dressed up, not what he usually wears to that Art School he goes to."

"Mrs.?"

"Mahoney."

"Mrs. Mahoney, is this your house?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, we'd really like to get a look at Jeff's apartment."

"Don't you need a warrant or something? I watch _Adam-12_ you know."

Mike thought about his answer. The law was very murky about who could grant permission to enter an apartment. He really didn't want to have his actions invalidated by legal minutia. "Technically, yes, unless it's an emergency."

"I don't see any emergency."

"Well…" The old _I smell gas_ dodge ran through his mind.

"Why, what'd the kid do? You know he's a quiet one, always keeps to himself. Not like some of those other crazy kids I've rented to over the years. Never had any problems with drugs or girls or anything."

"We just need someone to get a peek at his place. If you don't mind, how about you go up and look around a bit and tell us what you see, then…"

"So much for a right to privacy." Lenny said under his breath.

Mike responded in an equally low tone. "We can discuss the constitution another time. I have a bad feeling about this."

Mrs. Mahoney piped up. "I don't think that's right. On _Owen Marshall*_ they said…"

Mike knew he was sunk and ultimately she was right. Despite the fact that the woman's police and legal education came from TV, she knew just enough to cause a problem if this ever came up in court.**

"Thank you anyhow Mrs. Mahoney, we will certainly get a warrant before we come back. One more thing, do you know what kind of car Mr. Powers drives?"

"Doesn't have a car, although he told me he borrowed his brother's to go somewhere today, although I can't recall where."

"Do you know what kind of car it was?"

"Oh yeah, it was a pretty blue one."

Mike shook his head and thanked Mrs. Mahoney for her time.

"Now what?" Lenny asked as they walked to the car.

"Now we have to figure out how we can get a warrant out of a trash bag filled with newspaper clippings. The easiest way would be to find a print in common with the unidentified ones we already have. Then we need to talk to Jeff Powers."

"Seems like a tall order."

"Maybe, maybe not."

00000

"Hey, wait a minute, I forgot my purse. It's under the front seat of your car, Steve." Lizzy said as Jeff started the engine.

"It's ok, I'll get it." Steve got out and jogged over to the Porsche. He opened the passenger side door and grabbed the bag. Several items dropped out as he dragged it across the floorboard. He shoved what he saw into the bag and hoisted it out of the car. The weight surprised him. _What the hell do women put in these things anyhow,_ he thought to himself as he returned to the Torino. No wonder she didn't want to haul it up the steps into church. _Hung over like that, I'm surprised she could lift it._

Steve got back into the car and slammed the door as Jeff shifted into drive. He lifted the bag over the front bench and dropped it in between Jeff and Lizzy.

Lizzy looked over the seat and thanked him with her eyes. Jeff focused forward to avoid seeing any interaction between the two other car occupants and slid into the line of cars bound for the cemetery. The remainder of the journey was made in silence, save for soft snores from Lizzy after she dozed off.

They followed the funeral procession at a snail's pace through the city until they got to route 1. Once on the highway, the rhythmic rumble of tires on concrete made it hard for Steve to keep his eyes open as well. After this case was wrapped up, he figured he'd need a couple day off to recoup lost sleep. Just as his chin touched his chest he was shaken awake by a sudden application of the breaks. They had arrived at the cemetery.

Jeff leaned over to rouse Lizzy. She smiled at him as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Steve got out of the car and opened the door for the young woman. She exited and took Steve's hand, walking toward the burial plot, with Jeff trailing behind.

00000

Mike and Lenny parted ways when they returned to Bryant Street. Before going up to his office, Mike detoured to the crime lab. When Charlie saw him, he held up his right palm in a stop sign. "Give me a break, the prints aren't ready yet.

Mike dropped the bag on the counter, "Not why I'm here." He took out his handkerchief and pulled the typewriter ribbon out of the bag. "Can you see if you can pull any prints off of this?"

While Charlie dusted the spool, Mike spread the newspapers out on the counter. There were indeed articles excised from the papers. Even without checking, Mike knew Lenny was probably correct in his assessment. All of the missing article were above the fold on the front page and the dates corresponded with the discovery of the victims.

"Charlie, you got a newspaper around here." The scientist looked up from his work.

"Must be nice to have time to read the paper," he replied sarcastically.

"Not to read, I need to check something."

"Sure you do. There are usually a couple over by the coffee pot."

Mike retrieved a stack of unread newspapers. Matching up the dates, the missing articles were indeed related to the murders and all bore Joe Randolph's byline. Mike smacked his hand down on the table. Finally something lined up, now he needed a print.

He walked over to where Charlie was pulling a tape off the spool and leaned in over the scientist's shoulder. "Anything?"

"Yep, got a good thumb. You have anything to match it to?"

"No, but you do. Pull the prints from the drop cloth and van and let's see what we have."

00000

 _I guess I owe Lenny more than lunch,_ Mike thought as he carried a hastily typed report into Rudy's outer office. "Olsen in?" He asked the secretary as he walked by and knocked on the door, opening it before she even had a chance to respond. Rudy glanced up and knew by the look on Mike's face he had something important.

"We need a warrant and we need it yesterday."

"And that's because?" Rudy put down his pen. Mike laid out the fingerprint match and explained how it came about. "Are you sure the trash came from his apartment?"

"Landlord said so, but does it matter? We can just ask for paper on all the apartments in the building, can't we. Our mystery man was definitely in there at some point."

Rudy picked up the phone and spoke to his secretary, "Get me Judge Liverman's office."

Mike had to wait until 3:30 to meet the judge. He jogged up to his office and was surprised when he glanced at the clock. It was already after 2:00. He looked around, finding Norm Haseejian at his desk.

"Norm, has Steve called in?"

"Not that I know, although I think there are a couple of messages on your desk. Wasn't he going to the Woodward girl's funeral today?"

"Yeah, but he should be here by now. What are you up to?"

"Just cleaning up some paperwork, whadda you need?"

"A needle in a haystack. Call the DMV. I'm looking for a car."

"Make, model?"

Mike chuckled a bit, "No idea, belongs to someone, last name of Powers. I'm gonna assume it's local."

"First name?"

"Don't have a clue?"

Norm raised an eyebrow, "Ah Mike, what do you know?"

"Blue, the car is blue."

"So let me get this straight, you want a list of blue cars owned by anybody with the last name of Powers in the greater San Francisco area. Gonna be a long list."

"Any male _."_

"Oh, _yeah_ , that helps a lot. Is it important?"

"Would I ask if it wasn't?"

Mike went into his office and looked at his messages, dropping them back on his desk. Steve hadn't called in. He picked up the phone and dialed Steve's apartment, thinking maybe the young man had gone home to change after the service. Receiving no answer, he went out to Steve's desk and found Lizzy Grisko's home number, dialing it on Steve's desk phone. Again the call went unanswered. He looked over at Norm, who appeared to be on hold.

He walked to the detective's desk. "I'm going to the courthouse to try and get a warrant. If Steve calls in, tell him we might finally have a break on this one. He needs to bring the Grisko girl in as soon as he can." Mike was going to continue, but Norm started to speak into the phone, giving him a thumbs up on the message. The rest would have to wait.

With over an hour until he could meet with the judge, Mike decide to drive down to Grisko's apartment, hoping to catch Steve and the young woman as they came back from the funeral. Pulling up at the corner of Chestnut and Mason, he looked around for Steve's car. When he didn't spot it, he parked the LTD and went into the deli. Vince was behind the counter.

"What do you want now, Stone?"

"Mr. Molinaro, always a pleasure, may I speak to your mother?"

"She's over at the house, all broken up about the funeral of that bimbo who lived upstairs."

"You took her to the service?"

"Who the hell else would? She never learned to drive."

"Did you happen to see Inspector Keller and Miss Grisko at the church?"

"Yeah, I saw em. So what?"

"Did they drive out to the cemetery as well?"

"They were there but he didn't drive. Fancy sports car wouldn't start. That's what he gets for not buying an American car. They caught a ride with one of those long haired friends of hers."

"Do you know his name?"

"How the hell should I know? Little fag has hair longer than most chicks, wears it in a ponytail."

Mike felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

00000

Steve was leaning against the passenger side of the car, waiting for the pump to stop running. He'd offered to pick up the tab for the gas. His student days weren't that long ago and he easily remembered how limited his finances were back then. Lizzy was in the restroom freshening up, Jeff had walked across the street to pick up a couple of cokes.

The day had turned warm. He took of his suit coat, loosened his tie and tossed both in the back seat. He was already tired, but knew there was a lot left to do when he got back to town. Lizzy walked over to the car and leaned next to Steve. She still looked a little green, but was in much better shape than she had been earlier in the day, particularly now that the funeral was over.

"Where's Jeff?"

"He went to get us something to drink. How are you doing?"

"Better, thanks. I am so ready for things to get back to normal. Do I really need to go back to the station?"

"Fraid so. We'll have Jeff drop us off and then Lt. Stone will take you home after we're done at Bryant Street." Steve hadn't told her why she need to come to the station. He didn't have the heart to tell her this wasn't over yet.

"What are you going to do about your car?"

"I can check it later, more than likely it'll have to go in the shop."

"Sorry. That's a real bummer."

"Nothing for you to be sorry about."

The clip on the handle popped. Steve removed the hose from the car and screwed on the gas cap as Jeff was crossing the street. He handed Lizzy her drink. She unwrapped the straw and pushed through the plastic lid on the cup, taking a long drink. "I could kiss you." She crooned, relishing the cool relief. Jeff smiled.

"Thanks for the gas, man." Jeff said as he handed Steve a soda.

"No sweat, least I could do for giving us a lift. Sure you don't want me to drive?"

"No I'm good."

Steve decided he was a little too parched for the straw and took the lid off the cup, downing the soda in one. He crushed the cup, dropped it in the can by the pump and walked into the station to pay for the fill up. Jeff stood with Lizzy, sipping their sodas until Steve returned.

"We ready?" Steve asked.

Jeff dropped his cup in the trash before he answered. "Almost. Let me hit the little boy's room before we head out."

The young man took his time in the restroom. Jeff knew the Quaaludes he'd dissolved in the cop's drink would take about 20 minutes to work. He wanted Steve to be out before they even got close to the highway. Once he was under, Jeff could count on at least 4 hours to put his plan into action.

Lizzy had slid back into the front seat. Steve was still standing by the pump when Jeff exited the building, patting his pockets.

"Shit!" he swore loudly as he got back to the car. "I must have left my keys on the counter across the street." He took off at a jog. Jeff looked at his watch and waited once he entered the store. After several minutes had elapsed, he turned and exited. _It won't be long now,_ he thought as he strolled back to the car.

 *** _Owen Marshall, Counselor at Law,_ US television legal drama, 1971-1974. The show dealt with more compassion, justice and civil liberty issues than _Perry Mason_ style shows. It was typical of post 1960's legal dramas in the US.**

 ****The Fourth Amendment to the US Constitution guarantees a right to privacy and covers laws pertaining to search and seizure. The laws have become very convoluted over the years. I have interpreted it as best I can for the time period, but I'm not a lawyer. While Mrs. Mahoney owned the building, which up until 1960's was enough to permit police access, by 1970 she did not have the right to let police into the apartment, unless it was an emergency situation like fire, gas leak, sounds of a violent confrontation or a police pursuit of a dangerous individual. There is a loop hole, however: If a landlord permits a search and is _unaware_ that he or she doesn't have the right to do so. Police forces have argued successfully that ignorance of the law makes a search legal. Easy, huh?**


	25. Chapter 25

They had only been in the car for a few minutes when Steve was overcome by a wave of drowsiness. He closed his eyes, thinking it had been a good idea to let Jeff drive. It was his last lucid thought.

His mind's eye alit on Lizzy, sitting by an open window and peering out over a sepia-toned Tuscan landscape. She was dressed in black and wore an enigmatic smile. Lifting her hand, she beckoned him forward. He walked to the window and peered down at a courtyard. A fountain anchored the space. When he turned, he was standing abreast of the spouting water feature.

Pam rose from the shell shaped basin, no longer cold and still but a living Venus, sensuously calling his name. Her hair writhed in dynamic tendrils, caressing his face and arms. Turtles danced in an exuberant conga line at her feet. None of this was right. He shook his head and attempted to clear his thinking, but it only deepened his drug-induce hallucination.

The vision of Venus melted, the warm peachy tones blending with aqua and marble white. The liquefied fantasy drizzled into a pool holding Anna Kearns in the guise of a suicidal Ophelia. She was hauntingly beautiful, slowly sinking below the water; her visage serene despite the imminent peril.

Ophelia hummed until her mouth dipped below the water. Nightingales picked up the tune while dropping daisies and lilies in a diadem around her water-borne curls. Seeing the danger, Steve willed his arms to pull her from the pond, but he was unable to move. The heady smell of the lilies threatened to suffocate him.

The scene tilted wildly and he tried to control the dizzying motion, slowly counting backwards from 360. When the world ceased spinning, the source of his immobility became apparent. He was chained to a column from antiquity. Almost naked, a length of white linen barely protected his modesty. Arrows pierced the flesh of his abdomen. Oddly, he felt no pain, just a strange sense of detachment. He tried to cry out but the linen was suddenly animated, blinkering his eyes and muting his voice. The world faded to black.

00000

Lizzy looked back over the seat and was surprised to Steve sound asleep. He whimpered slightly, as if he was dreaming.

"Gee, and I thought I was tired, although I can't fault him. I think he's slept at my apartment more than at home in the past week or so."

Lizzy's words stung Jeff. The cop had spent multiple nights in her company. Doubt of her imaginary devotion crept back into his thinking. He struggled to keep his expression neutral.

She turned back to Jeff, "How long before we get back to the city?" Sleep had made her ignorant of the outbound journey.

"It'll be a while. You know, you still look a little wiped out. Why don't you try to take a nap?"

Lizzy didn't really need the encouragement. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, desperate for the escape sleep would provide.

As Jeff pulled onto Route 1 and drove south away from San Francisco and towards Pacifica, tears blurred his vision. He needed time to get his head together.

00000

Mike sped away from the curb with a new sense of urgency. Turning left on Taylor Street, he backtracked over Nob Hill toward the courthouse, slamming on the breaks when he crossed Sacramento. He swung the LTD in behind the Porsche parked in front of Grace Cathedral and checked his watch. The stop would make meeting his appointment with the Judge a close thing, but he had to be sure.

Exiting the car, Mike opened the trunk and pulled out a wire coat hanger. If he was wrong, Steve would never forgive him for damaging his car. It was a risk worth taking. As luck would have it, a black and white drove by in the middle of his attempt at breaking and entering. After several tense moments, Mike handed the hanger over to the uniformed officer, who opened the vehicle.

He reached under the steering wheel and pulled the release for the engine cover. When he pushed off the driver's seat to extricate his long frame from the car, he noticed an envelope on the floor of the passenger side, boldly addressed to Lizzy Grisko. Mike snatched it before straightening up.

One of the patrolmen had opened the engine compartment by the time Mike walked around the vehicle. Upon seeing the destruction, he winched on Steve's behalf. The damage was clearly intentional. He opened the letter, glancing at only the first few line before he instructed the uniforms to impound the car. His meeting with Judge Liverman was now critical.

Mike sat tapping his foot impatiently in the reception area of the Judge's chambers. He repeatedly looked at the clock, bolting from his seat when the receptionist called his name. The few minutes of wait time had given him ample opportunity to read the letter in full. The twisted testament of obsession made the fingerprint report in his pocket superfluous. This document was more than enough evidence to get a search warrant for Jeff Powers' apartment.

Before he left with the warrant, Mike called Norm Haseejian at Bryant Street.

"Norm, how goes the vehicle search?"

Norm was a little put off by the impossible task and his answer revealed it. "Maybe if I start now, I might have them all checked out by Christmas. There's a couple of hundred cars that meet the criteria you gave me. You have no idea how many Powers there are in Northern California and blue must be their favorite color."

"I know, but we need to find it. Split up the list. Get everybody who's there on it. Steve and the Grisko girl were last seen in that vehicle..." Mike looked at the time, it was almost 5pm, "over 4 hours ago. From what I just read, this is bad. I'm headed to the kid's apartment now. Is Tanner around?"

"Yeah, he just walked in."

"Send him over, we need to get this done fast. The address is on my desk."

"You want an APB on Steve and the girl?"

"Yeah, do it. Jeff Powers, too. White male, 20-25, 5' 10", around 150, black and brown. Wears his hair in a ponytail. Have somebody get his picture from DMV and put in on the wire. Last seen in Colma driving a blue sedan. Add an approach with caution. I don't know if he pulled the trigger on the first three vics, but he's up to his eyeballs in this."

After calling in the APB, Norm looked at the thick printout on his desk with dismay. He stood and loudly cleared his throat, quieting the general din in the bull pen. "Gentlemen, we have a problem."

00000

Lizzy woke up when the car rumbled off of the highway onto a gravel covered lot.

"Where are we?" She asked sleepily as she rubbed her eyes. The amber reflection of late afternoon sun on scrub brush-covered hills could never be mistaken for downtown San Francisco.

"McNee Ranch State Park. Beautiful isn't it?" Jeff drove through the parking area and continued onto the fire road, climbing in elevation. I used to come up here when I was a scout. Wait until we get to the top, the view is spectacular, you can see all the way to the Golden Gate when it's clear like today.

"I thought we were going back to town?" Lizzy shivered. She looked in the back seat, surprised that the rough terrain hadn't woken the sleeping detective. He seemed unnaturally still. She reached back to rouse him but Jeff put a restraining hand on her arm.

"You don't need him." His tone was calm, but it scared her. She yanked back her arm as Jeff continued his thought. "He took advantage of you, I can't forgive him that. He's just like the others, like Gary, like Ted, like Anna."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"They all stood in the way of you and me, of us."

"There is no us, we're friends."

"I got rid of them all for you."

The meaning of his words were suddenly clear and she panicked. She tried to reach back to Steve again. Jeff slammed on the breaks and threw the car into park. Lizzy, unprepared for the sudden stop, flew forward; her head impacting the dash board. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her face towards him, demanding her attention. "Leave him be, he's on a little trip right now."

She was dazed but weakly pulled back from his grasp. He held firm. "Let go of me. What's the matter with you?" Her words came out oddly slurred.

Jeff didn't seem to hear Lizzy's as he let her crumple back into the seat. "It'll all be fine. We just need to drive a little further. I know a place. You can even help me. It will be my greatest work, our greatest work. But this time, it will be just for us. Part of a private collection. I have everything we need."

00000

The LTD was still rocking from its abrupt stop when Mike threw open the door. Bill Tanner was waiting for him. Surprisingly, he hand Lenny in tow.

"What are you doing here doc?"

"I heard you got the warrant, thought I'd tag along and take a look."

Mike pulled two documents from his pocket, shoving the letter into Lenny's hand before entering the building. He pounded on the door of apartment 1A.

"So, I see you're back. That was quick. Do you have a warrant Lieutenant Stone?

"We sure do Mrs. Mahoney." He handed the document to the older woman. "If you don't mind, we're in a bit of a hurry." Although he was being polite, Mike's agitation was evident in his voice.

"Keep your shirt on, I need to go get my glasses."

"Ma'am, two people's lives may depend on what we can find in the apartment. One of them is a police officer and a very good friend of mine, so can we please have the key?"

Lenny would have been surprised by Mike's almost pleading tone had Bill not filled him in on the way.

"What are we looking for?" Bill asked as they jogged up the stairs. Mike unlocked the door.

"First and foremost, we need the name of the brother who owns the car. I don't know, an address book, mail, anything. Once we get it to Norm, he'll be able to add the tag number to the APB. Beyond that," Mikes voice faltered bit, "well, hopefully there's something here that'll help us figure out where he's taken Steve and the girl."


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: After a little sentimental Valentine's diversion, let's go back to the dark side.**_

Jeff continued driving up the rugged fire road until he reached the stables near the summit of Montara Mountain. At just shy of two thousand feet, mountain was a bit hyperbolic, but it was the highest elevation in the area and offered a spectacular view. San Francisco was only about 30 miles north of the park, but the drive had taken quite a bit of time on the twisting two-lane portion of the Cabrillo Highway.

The abandoned barn was just as Jeff remembered it and to his delight, the object of his quest was still present and intact. The large oval watering trough would be the perfect setting for his final diorama. He got out of the car and walked over to the galvanized tub, checking it carefully. A few inches of liquid covered the bottom, confirming it was still water tight. He checked the pump next to the trough. It spewed a rusty stream into the tub after a few tries. _Even the color is perfect_ , he thought as he worked the pump handle.

From the position of the sun, he assumed it was after three. His four hour safety window was nearly up, but he assumed he'd have more time. The 1200 mg dose of the prescription sleeping pill was a large one, particularly for someone who had never taken the drug. More than likely, the detective would be out for several more hours, but the longer he waited, the riskier it got.

He would have thanked Todd Walters if he were still breathing, for his introduction to Quaaludes*. They were so easy to get; doctors seemed to prescribe them like candy these days, euphoric and empowering if you forced yourself to stay awake during the trip and ever so effective for incapacitating victims. Todd's use of the drug to make his sexual conquests compliant and less inhibited was despicable, but for Jeff's purposes, the drug was perfect. His victims died on the ride of their lives. He was willing to bet the cops never even did a blood test on the other victims.

Walking back to the car, he popped the trunk, retrieving and lighting several kerosene lanterns he'd picked up on his last visit home. Daylight ebbed quickly at this time of year and the lanterns would ensure ample illumination while he prepared the site. Lizzy was still out. He reached through the open window and checked her pulse, worried she'd been hurt more than he thought when she hit the dash. Her heart beat steadily under his hand.

The young man opened the back door and roughly shook the unconscious inspector. He was still completely under. Pulling the .38 from his holster, he inspected the gun and shoved it in the waist band of his pants. He wouldn't need a gun this time, for even the manner of death was prescribed by the artwork he had in mind.

Jeff grabbed Steve under the armpits and dragged him out of the car, across the grass covered paddock area. The sight of the lawn pleased him. It was an exact match to the verdant shade of carpet in the original. Perfect. Jeff dropped Steve's head and shoulders to the ground, panting from the exertion of moving the dead weight. He took time to make sure the body was out of the sightline of the car.

He retrieved a thermos from the floor under the driver's seat and opened the lid. Setting it on the roof, he pulled a small white envelope from his pocket. Jeff opened the packet, and poured the last tablet into his hand. He broke it in half, dropping part on the ground and dissolving the rest in the still warm sweet tea. _Just enough to take the edge off_. It was time to wake up Lizzy.

00000

"Looks a lot like my room when I was an undergrad." Lenny commented when the trio entered the apartment. The space was filled with an assortment of mismatched furniture that had seen better days and was littered with takeout containers and random pieces of clothing. Over by the window, an easel was home to a small canvas covered with a cloth. It was all perfectly ordinary.

Bill went to work, sorting through a stack of papers piled on the dinette table. Mike walked to the easel. Next to it sat a low chest, covered with various art supplies and a can filled with paint brushes. Mike uncovered the painting and called Lenny over to take a look.

"If the letter wasn't enough proof, I think this seals the deal." On the easel was an unfinished image of Lizzy Grisko as Madam Lisa Giocondo, the Mona Lisa. Mike picked up a yellow legal tablet from amongst the art supplies on the chest. It was a list, written in an almost illegible hand. He passed it to Lenny.

"Doc, I guess you're the expert on unreadable penmanship. Can you translate any of this?"

Lenny rolled his eyes at Mike before scanning the list. "Titles of Paintings. Looks like he had lots of ideas."

"Any you recognize?"

"Sure. These are the names of some of the most famous paintings in the world. The ones crossed off," he pointed to several scratched out lines, "are the images he already used."

"Any indication of what might be next. It could help us find Steve."

Before Lenny could answer, Bill spoke up.

"Hey Mike, I think I've got it. Brother's name might be Chris, lives in Daly City, south of town."

Mike walked over to the detective. He held a greeting card and its envelope. The front bore an image of duck decoy, inscribed with _Happy Birthday, Brother_ in curling script. Tanner opened the card. _Love, Chris and Dora_ was neatly penned below a printed message. He showed Mike the envelope with a clearly written return address.

"That's good work." Mike smiled and slapped the detective on the back. "Call Norm and have him update the APB. Then call the phone company and see if you can get a number to go with that address."

While Mike was distracted, Lenny left the living area and entered the bedroom.

The unmade bed was flanked by a nightstand. Lenny picked up the prescription bottle and read the label, shaking his head. He called for Mike.

"Quaaludes. Dear God, I wish doctors would stop prescribing these things." Lenny showed the bottle to Mike. "I don't know if you've gotten the toxicology report for your victims, but I'd bet this is what he used to knock them out. It might even be the chemical courage that started it all."

Mike shook his head. His stomach knotted as he imagined Steve incapacitated by the drug. Time was running out. "Did you see anything that might give us a clue where he is?"

After a fruitless 15 minutes, emptying drawers and looking through cabinets, they were no closer to figuring out the location of Jeff Powers.

Bill had been on and off the phone, finally getting a line on Chris Powers. "I spoke to the wife, she said he'd be home from work shortly. Apparently they live in the house Chris and Jeff grew up in, bought it from the parents when they retired. He still has a room, spends the summers there."

Fear made Mike momentarily doubt his own instinct. If he guessed wrong, it could cost Steve his life. He looked at Lenny with a question in his eyes, Lenny responded.

"There's nothing here to find. You need to talk to the brother, if he still has a room, maybe…"

That was all Mike needed to hear. "Looks like we're going to Daly City."

00000

Jeff shook Lizzy until she opened her eyes, pushing the tea into her hand. "You hit your head on the dash. You've been out for a little while."

Lizzy was more than confused, she was totally blank. She felt even worse than she did earlier in the day. She drank a sip of the tea and looked around, having no idea where she was or why she was there. "Where are we?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, no, wait, we went to the funeral, but the rest is kind of a blank. Hey, where's Steve?"

Jeff decided to push his luck. "When he woke up, he saw that you were asleep. He decided to let you rest while he took a look around. He's a nice guy. Go ahead, finish your tea, I can't wait for you to see the view."

None of this made sense, but for the life of her, she couldn't dial up a better narrative. Her head was pounding and the tea seemed to be just what she needed, so she drained the thermos. Maybe it would help clear the fog.

"That's a good girl. I was really worried about you." He tenderly stroked her hair as she shut her eyes. To his surprise, she drifted off again. He smiled. When she woke, she should be just pliant enough to help him finish the job.

He went to work. Jacques Louis David had always been one of his favorite artist. His hyper-realistic style gave an air of gravitas to all his subjects and Jean-Paul Marat was no exception. Martyred by Charlotte Corday in the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution, his fellow revolutionary David memorialized the murder in an elegant painting reminiscent of the old masters.

Lizzy would act as Charlotte, clearing the final obstruction to their life together. While this pig was no noble martyr, he was handsome and well proportioned. He would play the role of Marat admirably.

Jeff returned to the trunk, picking up bolts of ecru and green linen, a 3 foot length o lumber and a silver knife. He then set about preparing the detective. The shirt had to go and was easily cut free, but he'd need the leverage his pants and belt provided to hoist the inspector into the tub. The rusty water would camouflage the trousers.

It was a challenge to muscle him into the tub. The cold water sloshed over the edge and drenched Jeff's clothes. He didn't care and went about positioning the body. Head resting on right shoulder against the side of the tub, and arm draped outside, knuckles gracefully kissing the grass.

He placed the length of lumber across the trough as a substitute for a writing desk and placed Steve's left hand upon it. After verifying the pose, he carefully arranged the fabric around the tub and the victim, finally stepping back to admire his work. The _Death of Marat_ had never been so visceral or affecting, it brought him to tears. Jeff picked up the knife and looked at his watch. It was almost time.

 _ ***A little bit about Quaaludes. Before they were banned entirely in the US in the early 1980's, although calls for banning them go back as early as 1973, Quaaludes were the number one prescribed sedative/sleeping pill. Their hallucinogenic properties were quickly discovered and abused, particularly on college campuses in the 60's and 70's. The pills were fairly cheap and easy to get.**_

 _ **Their effect on the user is similar to alcohol, but greatly enhanced, and they were often mixed with alcohol for a bigger high. In small doses they lower inhibition and causes delusions. They were also the drug of choice for "date rape" before the term even existed and were replaced by Rohypnol and Ketamine (Special K) for that purpose. They have been in the news again lately as part of the ongoing investigation into the actions of American comedian Bill Cosby.**_

 _ **I have heard from several people that the casual references to recreational drugs, alcohol and sex in this story are off putting. I get it, but it was the early 70's. I am not condoning those behaviors, but nothing I have referenced here was out of the ordinary for a lot of Art students and many college students of the era. Except for the psychopath bit. LOL**_


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: The penultimate chapter**

Mike made the trip to Daly City in record time. Lenny kept his eyes closed for most of the way. "You know, it won't do Steve or the girl any good if we end up wrapped around a telephone pole. I thought it was your partner who was Indy* qualified."

Mike dismissed the comment with a smirk and lurched to a stop in front of a brick split level. He was already pounding on the door when Bill Tanner pulled up. Bill and Lenny had just achieved the stoop when a blonde woman opened the front door.

Mike flashed his badge. "Mrs. Powers, I'm Lt. Stone, SFPD. We'd like to speak to you and your husband."

The woman invited them into a tidy living room where a 30 something man was reading the paper.

After introductions, Mike began, "Mr. Powers, when was the last time you saw your brother?"

"He was just here two days ago. He needed to borrow Dora's car. He was going to a friend's funeral. What's this all about Lieutenant?"

Bill took out his note book and interrupted, "That's a '71 blue Torino, license OIT 346." Bill had been in contact with Norm on the trip to Powers' home.

"Yeah that's it, why?"

"Thanks." Bill headed for the door. "I'm going out to the car and confirm this with the State Police and the Highway Patrol."

Mike answered Chris Powers' question. "We're trying to locate him. He hasn't been seen since around 1 pm."

"Why all the fuss? Nobody reported him missing or anything. I don't expect him to bring back the car until tomorrow, maybe the day after. Oh, God, he hasn't been in an accident or something, has he?"

Mike had mulled over how much he needed to tell the Powers on the drive from the city. If they knew what was going on, they might be hesitant to give him the information he needed. He hated lying to people, but thought an edited version of the truth might be more useful in this situation.

"No, nothing like that. Actually, it's not him we are trying to find." _That was at least technically the truth._ "He gave a lift to a friend of his from school and a police officer when they had car trouble after the funeral Mass. We really need to speak with her."

"Are you talking about his fiancé?"

"Fiancé?" Mike looked at Lenny, who raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Lizzy. We were so surprised when he told us they were getting married. She's such a nice girl, been out here a few times. We had no idea their relationship had progressed to that point. When he was here, he told us about her roommate dying. So sad."

Mike hadn't expected this wrinkle and chose his next words carefully. "Do you know if there is anyplace he would take her after the funeral?"

"It's funny you should ask. He told me he offered her a ride. Said he wanted to take her on a drive down the coast after everything was over so she could get her head together, but a police officer insisted she needed an official escort. He was a little annoyed by it."

Mike tried to get them back to his question. "So no place you can think of?"

Chris sat for moment. "Not really, especially if there was someone else with them."

"Mr. and Mrs. Powers, I understand that Jeff still has a room here, do you mind if we take a look? Might help us figure out where they went." Mike really couldn't compel them to cooperate, he was out of his jurisdiction and out of options.

"Sure, I don't see why not, it you think it will help. Is Lizzy in trouble?"

"That is exactly what we are trying to figure out." Mike had no problem answering the question truthfully.

Mrs. Powers escorted the duo down the hall and into the bedroom, which seemed to be a teenage time capsule. A high school diploma and multiple art awards graced the walls, keeping company with trophies, a large painting and several poster sized art prints.

Mike looked at the painting. "This is beautiful, did Jeff paint it?"

"Yes, he did. He is so talented. I guess after he gets married we will have two artists in the family."

Lenny looked at the prints, stopping at one in particular. Dora Powers noticed his interest. "Ugh, I asked him to get rid of that one. Can you imagine a painting of a murder victim, but he said it was one of his favorites. Go figure." Mike walked over to see what was captivating Lenny.

"This was one of the paintings on the list." he said in a low voice. " _Death of Marat."_ Mike swallowed hard at the image of the murdered man in the tub. Lenny put a hand on Mike's his arm. "We'll find him, I'm sure of it."

Mike continued on from the print, inspecting the room. He paused at a student desk and cork board in the corner, eyes stopping on a photo of two young men in Boy Scout Uniforms. "Ma'am, who is this?"

"Oh, that's Chris and Jeff, they used to camp and hike all the time, they were both Eagle Scouts. Even though they're years apart, they still spent time together. You probably didn't recognize Jeff. That was before he grew the pony tail."

"Where was it taken?"

"I don't know. I'd have to ask Chris, they used to go to all the parks along the coast."

"Can you please get him to join us?"

Mrs. Powers left to get her husband.

"What do you got Mike?"

"Probably nothing. But…"

Mr. Powers entered the room.

"Sir, can you tell me where this was taken?" Mike handed him the photo.

"Let me see. I think this was right after I became an Eagle. Looks like the last time we went camping before I left for college." He studied the photo. "Yeah, I can see the knot on my uniform. It's McNee Ranch State Park, not too far from here. It has the most spectacular view. I recognize the barn. It was the only source of fresh water up there. See the pump and trough in the picture."

Lenny walked over and asked to see the picture. Once he had it, he looked at the background carefully.

Power's continued after ceding the photo. "As a matter of fact, Jeff asked me if we still had the camping gear when he was here. Said that maybe he and Lizzy could use it after school let out. I think he took some of it out of the garage before he left."

Lenny and Mike exited the room. "This is it Mike."

"How can you be so sure?"

" _Death of Marat_ , the water trough."

"I thought so too, but what if we're wrong?"

00000

Jeff walked along the narrow trail with a lantern in hand. The sun was making its final dip toward the horizon and the sea. The angled light created stripes of deep shadows along the path. He held Lizzy's hand. It had been a challenge to rouse her, but he managed to get her awake enough to accompany him to the overlook.

The ambiance was perfect. He now knew Lizzy hadn't read the letter, his declaration of love, but he wasn't upset by it. The turn of events seemed to be the universe's way of correcting his mistake. The fates told him it was something destined to be expressed in person.

Lizzy leaned on him for support. Between the concussive force of the blow to the head and half a Quaalude, focus and balance were problematic. She staggered slightly and Jeff wrapped his arm around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder as they cleared the trees.

The sun was just kissing the Pacific Ocean to the west. Turning his head slightly north he could see San Francisco, already bathed in a ruby glow. Lizzy had closed her eyes again. He shook her slightly. Now was his moment.

"Gosh, it's really beautiful, um, what are we doing here again?" Lizzy giggled a little. She felt tipsy and silly, but the hint of a headache still bit at the corner of her senses.

"We came to see the sunset, remember? I have something to tell you."

The whole situation seemed a bit off, but she was too loose to care. "K," she grinned and slurred, "What is it?"

Jeff spun Lizzy slightly so the warm light bathed her face. He was overcome by the beauty of it all. "I... I did it all for you. There isn't anybody left in our way except the cop and he will be gone soon too. Now we can be together, forever." Once the words started, it was hard to make them stop. "Lizzy," He brushed his hand gently over her cheek and gazed into her eyes. "I love you."

Lizzy pulled back a little, patted his cheek and started to laugh.

00000

Cold. Not just cold, but teeth chattering, bone numbing cold. And wet. Steve had been floating on a sun-warmed boat, the sea gently swaying. He didn't care to open his eyes and spoil the blissful experience, but suddenly things shifted. The motion grew into a violent tempest. He felt powerless as he was tossed, banged and bruised. A wave swamped his senses.

After cold and wet he noticed the smell, not salty fresh, as he expected, but old, fetid. The incongruity pulled at his brain and forced him to open his eyes. The dream had been real, sort of, because when his vision cleared, he was in fact wet and cold, and he seemed to have lost his shirt at some point.

He tried to remember the day, but his brain felt thick and crowded in his skull. He had flashes of dancing turtles and a comely goddess. Nothing made sense. The last place on the reality timeline he could pinpoint was pumping gas. He had been warm then, ditching his jacket and tie. He'd climbed into the back seat of a car, Jeff's car and then nothing. He couldn't explain how he'd wound up half submerged in a water trough, in the woods at twilight, without his shirt, freezing his ass off. He thought maybe he should just shut his eyes and go back to the vision of the shapely Venus.

Steve wanted to stand up, but gravity appeared to be working overtime. The linen draping the tub felt more like lead. Another flash of being naked and impaled flitted across his consciousness. He shook his head, trying to clear out the cotton insulating his thinking. Hands on either side of the tub, he made another attempted at rising, pushing up to his feet and stepping out onto the grass. At some point, it seemed his shoes had gone missing. Instinct compelled him to reach for his holster, but the .38 was also MIA.

He felt like he had a number of years ago, when he'd mistakenly gone to a bachelor party with Norm Haseejian, but he didn't recall having anything to drink. Staggering over to the car, his thoughts turned to Lizzy and then Jeff. _Where the hell were they and for that matter, where the hell was he_? Opening the back door, he retrieved his suit coat. It didn't help much, barefoot and sopping, but it was a little bit better.

A wave of dizziness and nausea made him grab for the car door. He was glad it was almost dark, the tiny illumination from the dome light was more than enough to make his head pound. He leaned forward and rested his elbows and forearms on the roof of the car, creating an inviting pillow for his head. His eyes were nearly closed when he heard a piercing scream.

00000

Mike swung the LTD off the highway and onto the park access road. A balding man in a khaki uniform was drawing a gate across the parking lot entrance. He tried unsuccessfully to wave Mike off.

"We close at dusk, you'll need to come back another time."

Mike hopped from the car and flashed his shied as Bill swung his Galaxie in behind. "Stone, San Francisco Police. You been on the gate all day?"

"Mostly."

"Anybody left in the park."

"Uh, Yep. About a dozen permit campers."

"Anybody else?"

"I'd have to check the clipboard, give me a minute." He walked slowly over to the guard shack.

Bill came abreast of Mike and brought him up to date. "We had a report from the highway patrol. One of their cruisers may have seen the Torino gassing up south of Colma earlier this afternoon."

"They're just telling us this now?" Mike was nearly shouting.

"Take it easy Mike, they saw the car before the APB went out." It was not the answer Mike wanted to hear.

"What's taking this guy so long? Mike started to walk to the shack when the guard reappeared.

"Looks like a blue Ford never checked out. Mighta missed em, I was out and about a lot this aftenoon."

"Plate number?"

"Didn't write it down. It's slow this time of year, we don't usually bother."

"Can you tell me one thing?" Mike's irritation with the lax security arrangement was plain to read in his voice and on his face. "Is there a way to get a vehicle up to this spot?" Mike showed him the photo of the Scouts."

The man pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and stared at the photo in the glow of the parking lot light standards. "Looks like the old riding barn near the summit. Fire road goes up from the end of the lot here, but I don't recommend it in the dark."

Not that Mike had noticed, but the sun had set properly in the last few minutes. He first addressed the Ranger, "Get on the horn and call the State Police and get us some back up. If you can't get them call the Highway Patrol. We're gonna need help."

"Lenny, you stay here, send the cavalry up when they come. Bill, you're with me."

Mike didn't wait for any acknowledgement of the terse orders.

"You heard the man," Bill said to the stunned Ranger as he jogged after Mike to the LTD.

"I guess it wouldn't do any good to tell you to be careful." Lenny shouted as Mike slammed the door.

*Indianapolis 500 (Formula One Auto racing)


	28. Chapter 28

Steve looked around the lantern-lit paddock, trying to find the source of the scream. A trail broke off to the right, looking like a dark slash in the trees. He heard another shout from that general direction. Unsure of his balance, he inched backwards from the car, finally releasing the corner of the open door. When he didn't immediately fall on his face, he took several tentative steps toward the trail head.

Taking time to pick up one of the lanterns, he lurched unsteadily forward. Steve kept the light well below the level of his eyes, afraid of the effect it would have on a growing headache. After several more steps, his bare feet made him aware of the transition between grassy paddock and gravel covered trail. While the sharp stones were annoying and painful, they served to focus his wavering alertness.

Voices carried through the woods, sounding alternatingly animated and scared. He paused, leaning against a tree. His inner cop impelled him forward, but in his current somnambulistic state, he wasn't sure what good he would be to anyone. Steve pressed forward in a repetitive pattern: a few steps, tree, rest, until he saw the end of the trail.

Lizzy was on the ground with her hands clutching her face, crying. Jeff stood above her. Even in the dim lantern light, Steve could see the strange look on the ponytailed student's face, somewhere between rage and confusion. To his horror, he saw something else; his own .38 in Jeff's right hand. Fortunately, neither seemed aware of his presence on the trail.

He put the lantern next to a tree at the side of the path and dropped to his hands and knees. It wasn't the optimal position for a stealthy approach, but with his balance compromised, it was the best he could do. Jeff had turned his back on Lizzy and the trail, he seemed to be conversing with his own inner demons.

Steve crawled as close as he could to Lizzy without exiting the trail. Straightening up to his knees, he leaned into a tree bordering the overlook and picked up a pebble. Praying Jeff was distracted enough if his toss went awry, he reached around the trunk and pitched it at Lizzy. It fell short. The tiny ping of pebble against gravel sounded like a gong in his mind, but Jeff and Lizzy still seemed ignorant of his proximity. Picking up another small stone, he repeated the action adding slightly more oomph.

He winced when the pebble bounced off her face. The outcome was not exactly what Steve intended but did serve to get the young woman's attention. She turned sluggishly toward the direction of the woods. Steve didn't know if she could see him in the weak backlight of the lantern, so he risked moving his upper body into the open again and waved his hand.

It took a while, but she finally seemed to recognize he was there. Steve shivered. Adrenaline was fighting a war with the effect of what he assumed was some kind of drug and hypothermia. Now that he had her attention, the question was what to do with it.

00000

The bulky Ford sedan rumbled and bounced up the rutted fire road. Even with high beams, the dark was pervasive, blacking out the details of the road and surroundings. Bill held onto the dash with both hands, bracing himself against the violent motion. Mike sat hunched over the steering wheel, knuckles white as he drove. The agonizingly slow progress up the mountain was feeding an already overwhelming sense of dread.

After a particularly challenging set of blind switchbacks, Mike ruefully wished Steve was piloting the LTD. As much as he kidded the young man about his driving, he had to admit this type of slalom was more Steve's forte. He banished the stray thought as the radio squawked to life. Bill risked bodily harm and took one hand off the dash to answer the call. Help was on the way.

"That was fast." Mike commented without taking his eyes off the road.

Bill looked at his watch, "Not really, we've been driving for over 20 minutes. Must be near the top."

The elapsed time surprised Mike, he'd lost track of its passage during the tortuous drive. _Taking too lon_ g he thought as he pushed the pedal further to the floor. Two turns later, Mike noticed a dim glow ahead.

"That has to be it," he said as he sped up again, much to Bill's chagrin. Stealth wasn't an option. Whoever was in the clearing would have heard them coming well before their arrival. Bill silenced the radio anyway. Mike pulled the car to a skidding stop behind the dilapidated barn. The detectives exited with .38's draw.

"What's the plan? Wait for backup or go?" Bill asked in a low voice as he crouched down next to Mike on the driver's side of the vehicle.

"Think it depends on what's happening on the other side of the barn. Go left, I'll go right. Look around and come back to the car."

Mike crept to the edge of the building, taking care to stay out of sight. When he looked around the barn, he saw the Torino parked in the clearing with an open rear door. He spotted Bill, mimicking his actions on the far side of the structure. From what Mike could tell, there was no sound or motion near the car or anywhere else in the dimly illuminated clearing. He retreated back to the LTD.

"You see anybody?" Mike asked Bill when the detective returned to his side.

"Nothing. Where are they?"

"Let's go find out."

00000

Using the tree for support, Steve waved Lizzy towards him. She transitioned loudly from a sitting position to her hands and knees. His pulse raced, certain the noise had alerted Jeff. When the young man didn't turn, she made to push up to her feet. Steve frantically motioned for her to stay low to the ground. Lizzy stopped, seemingly unable to interpret his silent commands. He wondered if it was his altered state causing the miscue, or if she was drugged as well.

Before Steve figured it out, Jeff turned. Lizzy froze. Steve quickly slid back behind the tree. A scuffling sound from the overlook told him that something was happening, but he dared not move from his meager concealment. He looked back up the trail and spotted the kerosene lantern, just out of reach, and cursed silently. The minute Jeff entered the path, he would see the light and know Steve was under foot.

Not wanting to expose his position, Steve put his back to the tree and slid to a sitting position. He reached out with his foot in an attempt to upend the light. In theory, kerosene hurricane lanterns would extinguish themselves when knocked over, he just hope it wouldn't set the whole mountain top ablaze.

The warmth from the contained flame radiated on his bare toes, but he couldn't quite reach it. Sliding lower on the tree, he knew he'd made contact by the searing sensation on the ball of his foot. The trail turned ebon as he noiselessly tipped the lantern.

Steve waited in the dark trying to control his urge to shiver, barely daring to breathe. He hoped he could interrupt Jeff and Lizzy's passage as they came by him, without getting her, or himself shot. It was a tall order in his current condition. He was puzzled when a noise echoed down the path, but not from the direction of the overlook.

00000

Mike opened the trunk and retrieved two flashlights, handing one to Bill. They made their way around the barn to the deserted clearing and performed a quick search. Mike saw the draped, filled tub in the pale lantern light and shuddered.

"Anything?" Mike asked Bill as he exited the barn.

"Nothing. Where do you think they went?"

Mike swung the beam of his flashlight around the clearing, stopping on the trail head. "That way, I hope."

They jogged towards the trail. After several minutes along the path, they could see two figures silhouetted by light beyond the edge of the trees. Mike put his arm across Bill's chest, stopping him short. He put his finger to his mouth to insure the silence of the startled detective. Mike turned out his light and stepped off the trail to the right. Bill followed suit, sliding behind a tree on the left.

Steve thought he was dreaming when two lights appeared, approaching his position from the opposite direction. The idea was reinforced when the lights just as quickly evaporated. Behind him towards the overlook, he could hear movement on the trail, short of his position. As the footfalls neared, a dancing light pool created by a swaying lantern crept close to his bare feet. He drew his legs to his chest to avoid detection.

Lizzy clutched the bail of the kerosene lantern, illuminating her current peril. Jeff's right arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. He held Steve's gun to her neck with his left hand as they walked in tandem back to the barn. Steve was paralyzed by the sight. He knew that any attempt he made to halt Jeff's progress would be feeble at best and might cost Lizzy her life.

"Drop it, Powers," Mike called from his position behind the tree. He trained his .38 and flashlight on the unsuspecting student. Steve slumped against the tree in relief. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He was even happier as he heard Bill Tanner's deep baritone reiterate Mike's message.

The next few minutes were a confusion of light and shadow. After several tense moments, Powers panicked and pushed Lizzy forward. She dropped the lantern as she fell to the ground, leaving the scene lit only by strobing flashlight beams.

Several shots rang out, although with the way they echoed Steve couldn't tell from which direction. He crawled out from behind the tree, keeping close to the ground and hopefully out of the line of fire. He reached for Jeff's legs from out of the darkness, attempting to trip the fleeing suspect. As startled as Powers was by the unexpected snare, Steve's attempt was only partially successful in securing the situation.

Jeff went down. The .38 skittered up the trail.

"MIKE," Steve called as he pawed futilely at Jeff's legs, trying to prevent him from retrieving the weapon. "He's down, hurry. I don't' know where the gun went."

"STEVE" Mike was stunned and delighted to hear his partner's voice from the scuffle in the darkness. "Cover me," he barked to Tanner as he broke from his position behind the tree. Bill focused his light and pistol on the ground, illuminating Steve and Jeff's competition for the errant weapon. Mike sidestepped the downed young woman and subdued Jeff Powers with a well placed knee on the back and a .38 pressed to the back of his head. "It's over." He barked. Jeff Powers ceased his struggle.

Steve rolled away from Mike and the suspect, supine on the trail, panting. The sound of pounding feet on the path told him additional backup, alerted by the gunfire, was on the way. He smiled and closed his eyes when he heard the reassuring click of handcuffs. It was indeed over.

00000

Steve wasn't sure how much time had elapsed. He was sitting on the ground, back up against a tree and to his great satisfaction, almost warm. A reassuring hand on his arm and the booming voice of Mike Stone told him all he needed know.

"Rise and Shine, buddy boy. Ain't no way I'm hauling your butt down this mountain."

When he opened his eyes, the trail was saturated by unnatural light. He quickly closed them again.

"Don't you dare!" Mike chided, playfully patting him on the cheek. The relief and joy in his voice was palpable. Steve carefully reopened one eye, and extended a hand. Mike pulled him to his feet, which hurt. A blanket tumbled to the ground.

"Owww," he groaned as the burn on his foot announced itself with authority. He swayed a little, trying to take the pressure off the painful singe.

Mike picked up the blanket and draped it over Steve, then steadied him with a hand on the shoulder. "You ok?"

Steve felt terrible. "No." He gave Mike a weak smile. "But I will be." He broke free from Mike's grip and limped down the trail, pulling the blanket close to his body. "Where's Lizzy?"

"She's fine, already headed down the mountain I think. What happened to your shoes?" Mike said as he covered the short distance and walked close to the young man, monitoring his stability.

"No idea." Steve leaned into the comforting presence of his partner and friend. "Thanks, Mike. I owe you one. Guess you figured it out."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, probably before you did by the looks of it." As they walked a little further, Mike's tone shifted. "And you're welcome, my friend. Let's get out of here."

 **Epilogue**

Mike and Steve entered the bull pen debating the knowledge of right and wrong and its relationship to prosecution. It had been quite a while since they'd put the finishing touches on the Da Vinci Case. Jeff Powers was still under observation in the Psychiatric Ward of San Francisco General. According to Lenny, it was fifty-fifty whether he would ever stand trial for his crimes. Mike had opined loud and long on the _innocent by reason of insanity_ defense Powers' lawyers had crafted. Eventually, Steve tuned him out, still unsure of how he felt about the outcome of the case. There was no doubt Jeff Powers was nuts. He'd leave it to the doctors and the lawyers to figure it out.

Steve had planned to check up on Lizzy Grisko and see how things were going for the young college student, but life and crime got in the way. After getting coffee, he sat down at his desk and checked his messages. One of the numbers struck a familiar chord.

He dialed, fully expecting Lizzy would be in class and was surprised when she picked up the phone after the third ring.

"Steve, I'm so glad you called. What are you up to tonight?"

Having every intention of spending the evening with a book he'd been wanting to read, laundry and an early bedtime, he hesitated, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. "Um, not much, why?"

"I'm on my way to class right now, but if you meet me at the deli at 6:30, I'll tell you all about it."

He really wanted to relax this evening and catch up on some sleep, but as a wise man once said, he could sleep when he was dead.

"OK. See you then."

After a few hours of paperwork, Mike dropped him off at his apartment, admonishing him once again to make it an early night.

"That's always my intention, mom, but sometimes…" he added with a wink and a smirk. Mike gave him a good natured swat on the arm. "Get outta here, wise guy."

Steve waved and jogged up the stairs, changing into jeans, boots and a corduroy jacket. He grabbed the keys to his beloved Porsche, which was newly restored to health after a lengthy and expensive stay at a local garage.

He pulled up in front of the deli and entered to the sound of familiar door chimes. Lizzy was sitting at the counter, working on a bowl of pasta while Mrs. Molinaro chattered in a mixture of Italian and English.

"Buona sera, inspector. How are you?" Mrs. Molinaro's attitude toward him had softened once the assault charge against Vince was reduced to a misdemeanor at Steve's insistence.

"Fine, thank you for asking. How is Vince?"

"Bene, bene. I sent him to mio fratello in Palermo. I'm hoping he can, lo radrizzare." She stopped and thought a moment, translating slowly. "Hoping my brother can straighten him out. He's earning the money to repay the fine by working at his uncle's farm." She smiled and blessed herself, looking heavenward. "Maybe he'll meet a nice Italian girl. Grazie for all your help."

"You're Welcome. I hope it all works out."

Lizzy turned around. She looked a thousand percent better than she had after the frightening events on Montara Mountain.

"OK, so what's the big surprise?" Steve dropped onto the stool next to her. There was a place mat and utensils on counter and before he could finish his thought, a large bowl of pasta primavera appeared in front of him. "Uh, I'm not really hungry"

"Forget it Steve, easier just to eat it. That's her way of showing she cares. Thanks Nonna." Lizzy watched as the older woman went into the back room, "We'll yell if anybody comes in."

"So…"

"Well first off, I never really thanked you for what you did for me."

He cut her off with a bad imitation of a B-Western Sheriff, "Ah, shucks, ma'am, twern't nothin." He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the floor.

"That was really bad."

"Yeah I know, but honestly, I was just doing my job."

"Sure, you come and rescue all the people you meet, in the middle of the night, multiple times."

Steve avoided replying by digging into the pasta. She was right, for some reason his protective nature had gone into overdrive when he met Lizzy Grisko.

After a few bites, he picked up the conversation. "Well no I don't usually, but seeing how things worked out, I'm glad I did. So how's it going?"

"Good, actually. I thought I was going to have to move or find a roommate, but Pam's folks really came through for me. They are picking up my rent for the rest of the year. I don't know if they felt guilty or what, that family has such a weird dynamic, but bottom line, I get to stay put."

"I know that makes you happy and it's good for Mrs. Molinaro, too. With Vince out of town, at least she has somebody here." He raised an eyebrow and added, "And you don't have to deal with Vince."

"All true, but it's not necessarily good for my waistline." She pushed away the half eaten bowl of pasta and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You done?"

"Yep." Steve looked at the empty bowl. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought."

She chuckled and held out her hand. "C'mon, I want to show you something." Lizzy called back to Nonna and let her know they were leaving as she led him out the door.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

They walked uphill toward the Institute, stopping in front of the Charles Campbell Gallery. She opened the door and pulled Steve in. The ambiance could not have been more different than the last time the two had been there.

The gallery was crowded with young adults and what Steve assumed were their parents, mulling around looking at works of art in the brightly lit space. While several people were sipping wine, the toxic fog from the Leibovitz show was absent. Steve recognized Lilian as the guardian of the gate from his last visit.

"I was wondering when you were going to turn up, Lizzy. Now that you are working here, I expect you to be on time. But under the circumstances…" She winked at Steve, who was totally mystified.

"After Anna died, the gallery needed to fill their intern position. I had to re-interview, but I got the job."

Steve gave Lizzy a hug, "That's far out."

"That's not all. After the mess with Walters and Gary's paintings, Campbell had a hole in his schedule and some serious PR problems, so he offered up the gallery to the institute for a student show."

While it was good news, Steve still had no clue as to why it was important for him to be here. Lizzy dragged Steve toward the rear of the gallery. "Here's why I wanted you to come."

On the wall was a large-sized painting. Steve walked up for a closer look and blushed deeply.

Lizzy grinned at Steve, who was trying desperately to hide his embarrassment and think of something to say. "Um, wow, that's really, um… _you are talented_."

"Do you like it? I think this is a much better way to _immortalize_ you than what Jeff had in mind, don't you?"

Steve started to laugh, "If you say so. Thank you, I'm flattered, but do me a favor. Don't ever, ever, ever let Mike Stone see this. I'd never hear the end of it."

 _ **A/N: I had an image in mind for the final sequence in the gallery, but it is fairly obscure. Honestly, I think it's more fun for you to use your imagination. (You should be ashamed of yourselves ladies, LOL.)**_

 _ **I realized early on that this story was not many people's "cup of tea." I muddled through for my own edification and for the small minority who continued to read and offer encouragement. I would never leave you hanging. I respect you, and myself, too much. To those who read and reviewed, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your kind words mean more to me than you will ever know.**_

 _ **I know that I'm not an author, typist or proofreader. I make lots of mistake and for that I apologize. A special thanks to keller12917 for reading over the chapters as I posted and pointed out the typos so I could fix them. You're the best.**_

 _ **For the few that stayed on for the entire journey, I hope you felt in the end, that this was not a waste of your precious leisure time. Till we meet again on the Streets of San Francisco, adieu. MBC**_


End file.
